A Doctor's Notes
by A991807
Summary: The story behind the mask. Abstergo's detailed account of "The Doctor" and his significance during the conflict in the Italian Renaissance.
1. Chapter 1

A Doctor's Notes

Author's Note: First, the customary disclaimer: I, in no way, own the rights to any of the characters in this work of fiction. I am only writing this because of my appreciation for the work done by the dedicated team at Ubisoft Montreal and, more specifically, their writers. I have always been a fan of "The Doctor" and when I read what little back-story he had I was hoping to hear more about him in AC Brotherhood. However my expectations were not met, he was in the game as part of a tutorial, nothing more. So I felt the need to delve deeper into his character, to shape the man behind the mask, as it where. What are his motivations? Surely a serial killer was not spawned from nothing? Therefore, I humbly present _A Doctor's Notes._

Abstergo Industries Employee Profile 

Subject: 19

Name: Classified

Date of birth: 1982

Alias: T

Department: Research and Development

Past Company projects:

2005: Entered the pharmaceuticals division as an intern. Helped develop a variety of flu variants for dispersal in the Third World. Results: Impressive, despite age concerns the subject performed with skill beyond that of most certified virologists was retained and promoted to full employee.

2006: Engineered virus 9129 a more destructive variant of the bubonic plague. Also conducted tests within Africa. Results: Unparalleled success. The virus was not only effective and contagious but spread across the entire continent in only three months! The removal of the African population allowed our Acquisitions department to scour the continent for any artifacts.

2010: Discovered important genetic variants that led to deeper understanding of the human brain and better synchronization within the Animus. Results: Alterations to basic animus functions allowed the R&D department to dig deeper into a subject's DNA.

2011: Managed to synthesize product 1071 dubbed "New Fluoride" designed to cause addiction as well as repair tooth enamel. Results: Inconclusive, recent legal action has led to suspension of project

Current Project(s):

Animus training program: The subject, despite recent legal difficulties has been kept out of the public eye and enrolled as one of the first employees to take part in massive training exercises within the Italian branch. The training will include -

(Data removed by the Censorship department). Possible side effects include, but are not limited to: nausea, schizophrenia, split-personality disorder, depression, and death. The subject has agreed to participate and has signed a waiver exempting Abstergo Industries from any liability concerning said side effects.

Supervisor's Notes: At first I was nervous about including subject 19 considering the leak in his department concerning "New Fluoride", however his extensive knowledge in biological warfare is too valuable coupled with the skills the Animus will impart.

A medical prodigy, subject 19's age belies his encyclopedic knowledge of chemistry, and biology. Above all the subject's greatest asset is his loyalty. Having been a discrete employee during his time within the company, I had no doubt he would understand the importance of keeping this project under wraps. However, there is another reason subject 19 was selected for the project. Upon further investigation Lineage Discovery and Acquisition has found an obscure journal tying one of the subject's ancestors to the Brotherhood during the Italian Renaissance, specifically to one of the agents we utilize in our training program. This journal, transcribed below (for the most part) in modern English has convinced me that subject 19 will perform excellently in his training sessions. After all, the best synchronization rates are achieved by direct descendants.

Warren Vidic

Head of Genetic Research

Attached Manuscript:

Entry #1:

Notes: This scrap is the earliest found in the notebook, it is written in the shaky hand of a child but with enough grammatical prowess to suggest it is the work of an early adolescent, possibly a ten year old.

Date Unknown , estimated 1480

Papa says I should keep a journal about my work so when I succeed him I can look back on my childhood fondly. I don't know what he means but I know it makes him happy so here I am! Today marks my first day as Papa's apprentice!

Papa is the best doctor in all of Roma! Even Signora Viozza says so and she knows everything. Papa says I am young but I am ready to help, I know it. I want to wear the long robes like him and the three corner hat that sets him apart from the other medici.

He cares for his patients, looking down on those who charge ridiculous amounts of coin for medicine and spend all their profits with the women in the colorful dresses. "Suini!" he calls them! He says the women need to be taught the dangers of the street, not encouraged in their sin. He is sad for them, even when they keep getting sick.

I will do my best to be just like Papa.

Entry #2:

1986

I look back on my first scribbling and am embarrassed by how childish I was back then. Now, at the age of sixteen, I have been apprenticed to my father for many years. I understand that it is a doctor's duty to heal his patients, whether he is a good man or not. But my admiration in father's abilities is not shaken.

His eyes scan every laceration for signs of infection, his words probe for any symptoms patients might have missed, his hands work so deftly with surgical instruments that it seems more like an art than a science. He says I exaggerate, but none of his patients are left wanting by his work or hungry by his prices. Well except for that puttana Solari, she comes every week with a new problem and always blames father for every affliction. He suggests a change in lifestyle and she just scowls at him. But my mind wanders.

I have made great progress as well! I can sew a wound better than any tailor; I hold a scalpel with as much dexterity as an artist holds a brush, I even know the exact dosing for various remedies. But father says I take my work too seriously. That I should not only deal with the disease but the patient. He points to the small Medico Della Peste (plague mask) hanging in the wall over his medicine cabinets.

"Do you know why I keep that there?" he asked. "I leave it behind because one of my patients, a young girl, was afraid of it once. She said it made me look like a monster. A healer should be an encouraging sight, not a frightening one. He should treat his patients like human beings not objects."

I look up at the mask, cocking my head slightly to get a better look at it. It's a curious thing more elegant than the masks worn by the others. Its beak is small and convenient, not large and unwieldy. The glass lenses glint malevolently when the sun hits them. I wouldn't be surprised if a child saw a monster. But father's words make an impact. I guess I still need improvement.


	2. Chapter 2

Entry #3:

1486

Notes: This entry is dated a month or so after the previous entry, was accompanied by a variety of diagrams depicting the human brain. These parts of the manuscript have been removed pending investigation by the Censorship department.

Today began with a routine dissection; my father had acquired some corpses from il Vaticano for a good price, most likely because their deaths were caused by one of the "Holy Father's" fits of rage. However upon examination of one of the specimens I noticed that this case was more peculiar.

There were no outward signs of violence, at least not serious. There were some bruises on the forearms, defensive wounds most likely, but no sign of broken bones or internal bleeding. A deep stab wound was present near the pelvis but there wasn't enough blood on his clothing to indicate that he bled to death given the serious nature of the wound. Intrigued, I began to notice more subtle details regarding the body. While the hands and arms were filthy his palms were smooth, and his nails were clean. He'd never performed manual labor, or even step foot in a kitchen, curious. There was also a white strip of skin on one of his fingers indicating that he had once worn a ring. Upon closer inspection I can make out a symbol pressed into the flesh, preserved by rigor mortis, the Borgia coat of arms! This man was a cardinal!

The death of one of the Borgia's underlings is not what surprises me; Father's work is made much harder by the pope's greed. What is odd is the obvious attempt to hide the body, dressed in a commoners clothes, coated in grime, and shipped off to the poor district where it's oddities would be ignored by a common medico, but not by me.

I went through the entire body, looking for signs of poison, narcotics, anything. All fruitless! That is, until I checked the brain. It appears there had been a rupture of some kind, but there is no sign of blunt force trauma. How can a brain explode from the inside?

Entry #4

1987

Father and I are kept very busy at the shop these days; it appears that Borgia soldiers have been bullying the populace to enforce higher taxes. I try to look friendly, considerate, and benign and it usually works. But on the inside I see every patient as a new puzzle, a new way to hone my diagnostic skill.

A young boy comes in with a fever and I immediately check his vitals, take my notes, ask the customary questions about his condition and prescribe treatment. I don't comfort the boy, and I don't offer him a pastry like father would. I just deal with him and move on.

A man came in with a serious wound in his leg. I see gangrene in moments and recommend amputation. His family begins sobbing, the children clinging to him, the mother almost collapsing, yet I feel nothing. Had father not appeared and offered to get work for the man with one of his contacts at the docks (two legs or not), I would have been at a loss for what to do.

He takes me aside, removing his hat as he whispers to me, "Mio figlio, I am very proud of your skill. When I was your age I did not have half your knowledge or nearly as quick an eye. But what you have in mind," He pauses and points to his head, "You lack in heart," he pounds his chest enthusiastically. "Try to connect with your patients, feel their pain, only a man who cares about others can be a good doctor."

I nod at him and he smiles. Then he gestures towards a woman sitting in a corner and puts on his hat. "See, try it with her. I have faith in you." Then he pats me on the shoulder and walks towards the medicine cabinet to prepare for the man's surgery. I turn towards the women in the corner and walk forward.

She dresses in expensive silks but wears no shoes. A quick glance at her scalp tells me she hasn't washed in several days and her low cut dress makes her occupation clear. She is a professional courtesan, obviously not as popular as she wants to be but capable of winning an expensive gift. I fight down my disgust and ask about her problem.

She looks me up and down, crinkling her nose at my modest doctor's gear and lack of musculature. "So you're the doctor's whelp," she says, "I don't understand why he talks so highly of you, your nothing but a skeleton in an apron. You don't even wear a doctor's garb. Am I too unimportant to merit your father's attention?" She glances over at the operating table where father has begun amputating the man's leg. Then her eyes dart to the wife, "Come by the Rosa in Fiore when you're done here," she says, her mockery echoing through the store, "I'm sure I can find you something to do!"

I feel emotion for the first time today, anger. I demand she leave, when she points out that I haven't helped her with her illness I grab her arm roughly and move her to the exit. As she protests I toss her into the street and slam the door behind her.

The other patients nod approvingly. The poor man's wife thanks me profusely; even her children look up at me with respect. But as I catch sight of father his eyes are not happy, his mouth is set in a slight frown. I quickly grab the children something to eat, which softens his expression a little bit, but I fear I'll have to work harder to keep my temper in check.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's notes: I apologize if it took a little longer to post this update but the last couple of weeks I was swamped with exams. I would just like to thank anyone who liked the story so far and hope you keep reading until I reach the end. Without further ado here's part three.

Entry #5

Notes: This marks the author's first known contact with the Brotherhood through one of its most prominent agents. Though he is unaware of the Order's existence his manuscript enabled us to locate another ancestor for utilization in the Animus training program.

1488

Another strange day… This morning began like any other, with father and I making our regular rounds, when a group of guards walked in. Two of the men were simple recruits dressed in standard berets. They were supporting a third man in between them, a captain judging by his armor, as he raved madly about spiders.

Father waved me over and pointed to the men. "Take him off their hands, my son." He said. I nodded and relieved the men of their burden, moving the man to a nearby surgical table. Then I nod at father and he walks over and peers down at his patient. "How long has he been like this?" he asks and turns towards the two soldiers, now nervously shifting from one foot to another. They looked at each other, debating whether or not they should answer. Then the younger of the two, with only a thin layer of stubble on his chin stepped forward.

"Well doctore we were walking near the Rosa in Fiore and, well… We took a peek inside." Then he flinched as father glared at him. "W-we know you don't approve of that kind of thing but I swear we only drank some wine and flirted, a little."

Father was furious; he had treated the guards for diseases picked up from Roma's… less reputable women, he often lectured them about the risks of pleasure seeking. However as father began to speak the man on the table started flailing madly. I moved quickly to steady him, forcing his arms down as he began ranting louder, "Let go of me… Who are you? That bitch! I should have never taken that French swill!" I forced him down, applying pressure to the nerves in his arms until they fell uselessly to his sides. Then I began examining his symptoms, no amount of whoring could cause this kind of hysteria. His pupils were dilated, his breathing quick and shallow, an obvious sign of poison.

My father was moving around the other side of the shop, searching through the cabinets. Then he removed a vial and reached for the syringe at his belt. An intricate, yet durable instrument, handmade by a craftsman my father treated for a knife wound, its long thin needle quickly drains the contents of the vial.

He moves quickly, forcing the man's head down he injects the antidote into a carotid artery on the left side of the neck. "This should counteract the poison's effect on the brain but it will take some time to reach your other major organs." Father said reassuringly. "I suggest you rest for now." Then he returned the vial to the cabinet and made a note of the antidote so he could replace it later when he visited his contacts at the docks.

The captain, having regained his senses, shook my arm and motioned for me to come closer. "A letter… in my pouch." He whispered. I reach into a pouch fastened to his armor and pull out a roll of parchment bearing the papal seal. "Figlio, this must be taken to the barracks near Il Vaticano. Ask for "The Officer." Then he leaned back, closed his eyes, and began sleeping peacefully.

"Papa, will you need my help?" I ask. He looks up from his note taking, smiles, and motions for me to be on my way. I remove my apron, pull on a pair of boots, and hurry out the door. As I walk through the city I notice the gradual change in atmosphere. Dirt roads become cobbled streets, beggars become artists, emaciated courtesans become plump noblewomen, and monks in threadbare robes are replaced by wealthy cardinals. "What a waste", I muttered; gazing upon the glorious arches, columns, statues, and other wonders that make up the center of the city. "All this beauty, all this order, and no one here to appreciate it, only fat swine and spoiled children."

I was brought out of my reverie when I spotted my destination. The barracks in the Vatican were nothing like those in my own district. There the guards are tired but, for the most part, honorable men. But here the guards are arrogant, snobbish, and look down on me like a stain on their boots. However, when I ask for "The Officer" they snap to attention and treat me with respect.

A soldier leads me through the barracks and I take in everything I see. There are so many holes in their security; sentries stumble about the walls, the captains spend too much time drinking instead of drilling their men, and the new recruits are drawn from wealthy families, too spoiled, in need of discipline. My father always taught me the value of order; obviously this wasn't the case here.

The soldier suddenly stops at a simple, but imposing wooden door; he knocks three times and motions for me to wait. Then he walks back down the corridor, leaving me standing there alone, and waiting. Then I hear a voice from inside the room, steady and authoritative, "Enter!"

I am taken by surprise; the office is nothing like the rest of the barracks. It is neat, organized, and business-like with no decoration save a rapier hanging on the wall. The man sitting at the desk is no different. His face is free of stubble, his uniform spotless, and his eyes cold, without emotion. I cannot help but feel respect for such a man, a real soldier, even though he is only a few years older than me.

"I am Teodor Viscardi," he says, "You have a message for me?" I nod and hand him the parchment I have kept clutched in my hands. He breaks the seal and reads it carefully, and then he reaches into his pocket and tosses me a bag heavy with coin. "Thank you for your help, boy. I am sorry if you were caused any inconvenience. You may go now." As I hurry home, taking care to conceal the coin purse, I wonder what message the captain carried and why a courtesan at the Rosa in Fiore would have poisoned him to get it.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long. I'm a little embarrassed. But don't worry, the chapter is as good as the rest, possibly better, and the story will ramp up soon. So keep reading. As always feedback is appreciated.

Entry #6

1489

Since the incident with the guard several months ago I have been neglecting my journal more than usual. Such dereliction of duty is shameful, and so here I am. Business has been doing well.

We have had a good number of patients come in for minor ailments but we always hand them the necessary remedies and sends them off happy. Crime has gone down since the guards have been avoiding cheap wine and "company" at the brothels. Apparently father's words about healthy living only needed a near-death experience to make an impact. Overall it has been a good start to the New Year.

Father thinks so too. Except… Sometimes when there is a lull in his work he begins to arrange and rearrange his supply cabinets, like he's thinking long and hard about something. I've been putting it off for a while now but this morning I could no longer restrain my curiosity.

"Papa," I said, while we were walking down to the gates to pick up some supplies from his contacts. "What troubles you?"

He looked down at me, sighed and began to whisper. "Mio figlio," he replied, "I have just been thinking about what happened with the guards last year. They are the musings of an old man, nothing for you to worry about." Then he smiled and motioned for me to walk faster.

I rolled this around in my mind as we walked. I'd been curious as well, back then, but as other patients came by I eventually forgot about it. But now my mind began to replay the incident from beginning to end. I had a poisoned guard, a captain at that, a message bearing the papal seal, and "The Officer" obviously an influential member of the pope's military. Obviously the orders were a secret communication because otherwise the Borgia would not have had them delivered by a guard from our district, the poorest in Roma, but by a messenger in expensive attire. It is also highly unlikely that the would-be messenger was poisoned accidentally. All the evidence pointed to the Rosa in Fiore.

I told Father this as we returned home bearing a crate full of medicines ready to be sorted and shelved. I pointed out what he must already know; that there was something more to the courtesans of Roma than a lack of virtue, they were up to something.

He remained silent for the longest time, only when we had entered the safety of the shop did he turn to face me, and even then he kept his voice at a whisper. "You are right. I had forgotten how clever you were. I have been looking in to the issue myself for two months now. I guess I can share it with you, if it will keep you out of trouble." I urged him to continue, my mind now eager to learn more of this mystery.

He told me that he began by changing his rounds in the cart, making sure to pass the Rosa in Fiore several times a day. Then, as he set up his wares, he would watch those coming and going through the brothel's doors. At first the courtesans had been nervous (they thought he would scare away visitors) but eventually they ignored him and he could watch them more closely.

"For a few weeks," he said, removing his hat and hanging it near the door, "I saw nothing, only men of all kinds going in alone and coming out delirious with drink. But then, one day, things were different. A woman came in, and not just any woman. The courtesans walked straighter near her, they rushed to attend her, hanging on her every word."

"Who was she?" I interrupted. This shook father out of his thoughts long enough for him to notice he was still wearing his black robe. He stopped for a moment to unbutton it and put it away. Then he turned back to me, chuckled at the look on my face, and continued speaking.

"Teodora, Teodora Contanto." He said, his face twisting into a frown. "She calls herself a _sister_, but I know she is no nun. Only a whore who owns a brothel in Venezia, La Rosa Della Virtu, but she is more than a pretty face. I paid the boy that works in their kitchen enough coin to win his loyalty, and his ears listen for me inside the brothel."

Then he shook his head as if what he had learned gave him more questions than answers. "When they speak with Teodora they have all other visitors leave the brothel, then they meet in private in a back room. The boy told me that Teodora asked about the guard they had poisoned and whether they had intercepted his message. She was enraged when she heard of their failure." Suddenly I felt a little uneasy, if this Teodora knew that I delivered the message we might get caught up in this madness, and I certainly didn't want that.

But Father quickly brushed away my fears, "Do not worry. They know nothing of our involvement, only that the guard survived and the message was delivered. But that is only the beginning; the things they spoke about next are too confusing for me to comprehend. She went on and on about an "Apple", someone named Enzio, or was it Ezio? Never mind, I will remember soon enough. She also went into great detail about a battle in Forli. You have heard of it I hope?"

I nodded, "Yes, I heard the contessa hired a few Mercenari to kill her husband and they ended up betraying her. I believe she managed to get rid of them though. But how is this "sister" involved?" I asked. Father shook his head.

"I wish I knew," he said, staring out the window at the fading daylight. "But now that we both know you can help me find out more by covering for me here at the shop. You are almost ready to end your apprenticeship and become a real doctore."

As he spoke those last words his chest swelled with pride and I found my eyes wandering towards his robes and hat. I even hazarded a quick glance at the mask hanging all alone on the wall, its lens seeming to stare right back. "Of course Papa," I said, "Anything to help."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's notes: Here's the latest chapter. You could say that everything up until now has been leading up to this moment, the _real_ beginning, where man becomes monster, or does he? Regardless, I hope you enjoy it, and don't worry there is much more to come.

Entry #7

1489

Notes: In the original manuscript the author's writing changed drastically in this entry. He appears to have been overcome by emotion alternating between neat lettering and sporadic scribbling.

Maledetta puttane! Senza valore sporcizia! How dare they! HOW DARE THEY! No, I must be calm, I must, if my heart is beating at this rate an hour from now I might fail. It is to be expected however, when the day began I did not expect tragedy.

Father had gone out early to continue keeping tabs on the Rosa in Fiore. Meanwhile I had readied myself at the shop. Today I would finally don the cloak of a true medico. I smiled at the customers, thanked them for their congratulations and joked with the guards.

But as the sun set I became nervous. Father was supposed to have returned just after noon. What had happened? Making sure to lock up shop I decided to go out looking for him. I searched high and low. I asked all the guards if they had seen him and got no results.

Then I noticed a crowd gathered around the barber's shop with signor De Silva motioning for them to back away from a dark shape near his feet. As I moved closer the shape became easier to see, it was father.

Shoving the crowd out of my way I kneeled next to father and began to examine his condition. His pulse was dwindling, there was a gash near his chest were some jagged knife had smashed through the soft tissue puncturing a lung. There was nothing I could do.

"Papa, who did this to you?" I asked shaking him slightly to bring hm back to consciousness. He opened his eyes, blinked once, saw me, and smiled. Then he reached his hand out and pushed something into my palm. However, it seemed that last act had been too much for him and he closed his eyes, and was still.

I don't remember how long I cried after that, clenching my father's body like a young child grasps a rag doll, rocking it back and forth in my arms. All I know is that when I stopped everyone had left except for the barber and a group of boys who stood off to the side akwardly.

"They found him lying in a ditch bleeding heavily," De Silva said motioning towards the boys. "I carried him over here. Who would have done this?" he asked. I shook my head unsure of what to tell him. He frowned, then he signalled for one boy to come forward. The child shuffled awkwardly towards me and handed me my father's hat, dusty from its contact from the ground, but intact. Then he and his frinds ran home.

The barber stayed behind to help me cary my father's body home. Then he wished me the best and went away. It was only then that I realised I was still clenching something in my right hand. I lifted it to my face and opened my palm. "A ribbon?" I asked, staring down at the small crushed piece of fabric, "What does a ribbon have to do with...?" Then it hit me. The ribbon had been in Father's hands. He would have used his hands to grapple with his attacker. Then I checked the wound. The knife had pierced his torso at an angle from below the rib cage. This meant his attacker had to be shorter than him, and close enough to be able to attack his vital organs without much to hinder their efforts. The ribbon also indicated his attacker was female.

I studied the ribbon more closely, searching my memory for ribbons just like it. "The whore!" I said sitting down in a chair near the table where Father had been placed. "The one I threw out of the shop! The brothel caught you spying!" Then I began to panic. If they had killed Father maybe they were coming for me.

Then I discarded that idea. Several courtesans had entered the shop today, and none of them had attacked me. They had caught him spying but they must have thought he had heard something by accident and resorted to murder to keep him quiet.

Over the last few weeks we've discovered many things. That the courtesans across Italia are all linked within one organization, an organization that works with thieves and mercenari. This organization has also been very active in recent years as one of it's members, this "Ezio" Father had spoken of, had been assassinating aristocrats and wealthy clergymen in Toscana, Firenze, Venezia, and most recently Romagna.

While Father had been willing to wait for more information before alerting the guards I had seen nothing in this organization's actions but a desire to spread chaos and disorder. Obviously I had been right or Father would not have been slaughtered so nonchalantly. But whatever their numbers, they will pay for what they have done. Starting with Father's murderer. But how?

As I began developing plans for my vengeance my eyes wandered around the room. 'Poison!' I thought focusing on the cabinet in the corner. But to administer poison I had to get close to my target and that could onyl be accomplished with... A disguise! My eyes swerve towards the mask resting forgotten on the wall, its lenses blood red from the setting sun. I will use the mask to hide my face! No one has ever seen Father wear it! I rush to the closet and removing one of Father's old cloaks. It is a dark green color, frayed at the bottom and covered in blood stains from years of use. This will help me look the part! Just an experienced doctor looking for some cheap thrills.

Now, as I sit here writing I am in full gear. I have filled the mask with new spices and they help to calm my nerves and my shaky hand. The lenses are in good shape and make everything seem so much clearer. I have also worn my father's medicine belt, filled with vials of poison and surgical instruments, including my father's syringe, filled with a particularly deadly concoction. I also wear Father's hat, it is comforting to think he is with me.

When I return I will finish this entry but for now, I hunt.

...

It is done. And strangely, I feel...pleased.

I began by scoping out the local taverns, making sure to walk with the swagger of a man at ease. It was several hours past midnight when I found her. She had drunken herself silly at a run down dive near the river. I sat at a table near her, ordering a drink from the barkeep, I didn't take one sip.

Eventually she left, shaking off a pair of burly sailors who had been groping her for an hour, and teetering off into the streets. I rose, passed my drink to one of the men, and threw some more coin at the barkeep. Then I ducked out after her. I tailed her to a side street and tapped her gently on the shoulder.

She spun around, startled at first, but seeing my doctor's garb she quickly adopted a more friendly tone. "Oh, hello doctore. Come to get something for your own health?" She said, lifting her skirt as if selling merchandise. Her eyes widened when she saw the fist full of coins I held out and she pulled me into an alleyway.

As she reached down to part the robe, readying herself for what she thought was coming, I saw my chance. I quickly reached for my syringe and stabbed it into her throat. Her eyes widened in shock initially, but the poison's effect was quick in coming. The muscles in her throat collapsed uselessly and she struggled to breathe. Using her confusion I quickly replaced the syringe with a scalpel which I drew violently across her hamstrings, crippling her from behind.

Awash in pain, but incapable of crying out, she watched as I surgically sliced every one of her major arteries, the blood forming a pool around her body. I felt nothing as I worked. No rage, no satisfaction, not even a desire to confront her verbally about her actions, only the thought that I was freeing the world of one of its many parasites. It was only as I neared the end that she understood. That she remembered where she had seen this mask before, with its cruel uncaring eyes, and the pain and tears in her eyes gave way to fear. She died that way, in a pool of her own blood looking like the devil himself had come to take her.

I looked down at my handiwork, then I checked my pulse and shook myself to get my blood flowing. Then I walked out of the alley and never looked back, I zigzagged my way through several side streets and made my way home.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay. I spent the last week sorting out some academic responsibilities. But here is the next chapter. I'm also glad to see that more readers have decided to receive alerts for this story. Feel free to comment.

Entry 7-8

1489-1490

Notes: The following entries are seperated by an estimated two months, while there were a variety of entries with content similar to entry 8, or what we have dubbed entry 8, we only translated those which contained significant information. This helped the department minimize resource use.

#7

The weeks since I had my realization have been busy. The community was shocked upon finding the first parasite's body but she was forgotten after a short funeral her family, if she had any, did not attend. I have spent the last few weeks solidifying my hold over Father's old position. I follow the same policy he did, in his honor. But I hide the mask away where none can see it. I can not take any risks.

Much to my surprise Messer de Silva gave me his whole-hearted support and the rest of the neighbourhood listens to him, even if he is the worst barber in all of Italia. I am lucky his tongue cuts more sharply and accurately than his razors do. If he knew of my plans, would he change his mind?

But this is unimportant. I have managed to arrange meetings with all of Father's old suppliers and, for the most part, they have agreed to bring me any substance I need. And I will need much. I have also taken the liberty of avoiding the Rosa in Fiore, for now I will have to draw their attention away from the grieving son of a do-good doctor and towards a mysterious murderer who stalks them at night. The two can not be connected.

New clothes are essential. The Doctor wears the robes of a veteran, a dark green stained by the blood of many years of work and weathered by the harsh cobblestones. So I buy brand new robes with a light brown hue, more comforting than frightening, and I exchange Father's tri-corner hat, now stored away with my mask, with a simple flat medical cap like all the other medici. But I make it clear that I will not take any patients at night unless they have an appointment. No one takes notice, I am inexperienced after all.

#8

I am ready to begin my own investigations. I have prepared a special mix of poisons. I have readied my syringe. And as I write this I am about to place my mask, my new identity, on my face. I will chronicle my findings when I return.

...

I chose a different tavern this time, one near the river, known to stay open late and fill its patrons with drink. Of course drunk men with coin to spend are easy bait for courtesans. I watched the parasites from the corner of the room, pretending to play a friendly game of dice with a drunken sailor. As my companion began to sing a sea shanty I recognize one of the vermin. She is one of the Rosa's older "girls", Annetta I believe, she must know something.

I motioned for her to come over, making sure my gestures are jittery and off balance, just another drunk, nothing to fear. She smiles and shuffles over, obviously pleased that she could still attract younger men. I whispered to her my desire to handle business "privately" and she lead me to the door. She took me to a desolate alley near the Tiber and I place a few drugs from my belt in a cloth. When she turned to see what I was doing I force the cloth in her face. Taken by surprise, she failed to stay awake and collapsed to the ground.

Then I work quickly. I put her in a small boat nearby, I had picked this area suspecting as much, and began rowing. I stopped at an abandoned building Father had pointed out to me once. Originally a granary, the Borgia have emptied it to feed their army. It is perfect for an interogation. No neighbours, the closest guard patrol is well out of sight, and it has enough rope to hold the average human being easily.

I tied her to a wooden support beam. Then I moved a table over, unpacked my surgical instruments, grabbed a stool, and sat patiently. For the next two hours she slept, albeit with some diffficulty, then her eyes fluttered open.

"Cosa?" She said, as her pupils grew accustomed to the dim light. Then she saw me sitting across from her. "Stronzo! Who are you?" she demands fighting to free herself. I decided to get her undivided attention even if it did mean breaking my silence.

"Who is Teodora Contanto?" I ask calmly, making sure that she saw the moonlight gleam off the lenses over my eyes and the surgical tool I was lifting off the table. Suddenly she stiffened, her eyes travelling from the mask to the blade, alternating rapidly. Obviously I've struck a nerve.

"She is... she is no one!" The parasite stammered, "Just the Madame of Venezia! Why do you ask me these things? I am a simple woman, please let me go." She tried to look innocent and pathetic, it didn't work. I walked up to her and slashed the bottom of her dress open. "What are you?..." she asked. Then I stab her in the left thigh and the blood spurted out.

She screamed as the red stream soaked her petticoats. Then I stemmed the flow with a bandage and walked back to my stool. "Let me repeat myself, in case I wasn't clear." I said, making sure to remain calm and cool. "Who is Teodora Contanto?"

She began crying, finally understanding the seriousness of her position. She started to talk. "She controls all of the courtesans in Venezia. She also has access to the information network of Antonio, the thief. She visits us to spread news through the network, Paola tells her to." I sat very still as she lifts her head, expecting another question. I don't dissapoint.

"And who is Paola?" I asked, cleaning my instrument and holding it up to the light to see.

"The leader of the Courtesans in Firenze, and possibly all of Italia!" She said, her words hurried and anxious. "She has asked us to keep our eyes and ears on the Borgia, though I don't know why. Please don't hurt me!" Her breathing is accelerating at an alarming rate, her eyes anxiously focusing on me. She knows nothing else, pity.

I walked up to her and cut the ropes. At first she was overjoyed and turned to flee. Then she froze when I drove my Syringe through the gaps in her rib cage and emptied poison into her heart. She gurgled a little and her eyes glazed over, then I let her fall. A quick stab through the throat with a common dagger I bought off a sailor to cover my tracks, and I dumped her body in the river. Then I rowed away, returning the boat to where I found it and making my way home.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's notes: First, an apology to all my readers. The last couple of weeks have been very stressful for me as I've had to submit one major assignment after another. My professors also peppered me with exams, so it took me a while to sit down and type out this next chapter. But don't worry I shall continue posting chapters from now on at a somewhat weekly basis, and since my semester ends in about a month I can devote a lot more time to writing this story. Please enjoy.

Entry #9

1490

Notes: As stated in previous notes, many of the entries prior to what we have dubbed entry #9 involved the interrogation, and disposal, of various roman prostitutes centered around the Rosa in Fiore Brothel. Suffice it to say the more grisly description given by the writer is more time consuming to our department than a simple summary of the facts he has learned. First he discovered the existence of the Assassin's order, though not by name, making him one of the few neutral parties to do so. Then he discovered the vital links in a chain of command leading from the local brothel to the Republic of Venice and the city of Florence. Unfortunately we were dissapointed to find no vital information that had not been retrieved from our other sources. However this entry does represent a turning point in the author's narrative with his introduction to our own order.

It seems that Father and I have been caught up in a conspiracy far greater than the local brothel. In fact it stretches far beyond Roma and possibly even Italia. But I am rambling, it is better that I write down what took place last night while it is fresh in my memory.

I had captured another parasite for interrogation, a young one this time, the wiser vermin have been harder to find as of late. I easily drugged her and relocated her to the abandoned warehouse near the docks. There I used my newfound powers of persuasion to elicit some useful information from her.

It seems that this secret organization that the courtesans are involved in has ties to a small fortress in Toscana, Monteriggioni. This fortress is also home to a powerful fighting force compromised of various well-trained mercenari. Curious, I plied her for the purpose of keeping such a fighting force at the ready. But she knew nothing, and then I made sure she knew death.

However as I dumped the body and turned to leave, a burly city guard spotted me and shouted for me to explain myself. I ran, he chased after. I used every side-alley I knew, I took the liberty of throwing over barrels full of cargo to make his pursuit more difficult, but years of physical extertion kept him on his feet.

As I rounded a corner and came to a dead end I felt bile rise in my throat. If I was caught now I would never know anything , why Father died, what this organization was planning, what their purpose was. Even worse, Father would be disgraced if I was found to be a murderer, our home would be condemed by the Borgia and those that relied on my medicines would die.

Of course the guard knew none of this, he merely grinned with satisfaction, having finally trapped his prey. Then he began to walk forward slowly brandishing the shortsword in his right hand, waving it about eagerly. As I prepared myself for a last ditch attempt, a voice, as if in answer to my plight, echoed through the alleyway. "Guard! What is all the commotion I can hear it from my bedroom!" Then Baltasar de Silva stepped into view behind the guard.

As the guard turned to face the barber I caught movement near de Silva's waist, he was reaching for something in his side pocket. Then, as quick as a spring breeze, and with the precision of a master surgeon, the barber lunged forward and brought his arm up and across the guard's throat twice, slicing it with the razor he had puled out of is pocket.

The guard gurgled a little, and then fell over, his blood seeping onto the floor. I looked up at de Silva, bewildered by his act of violence. And then I saw, of course this man was no barber. It was not that he had no skill with a razor, but his training was in more violent practices. When he cut hair he failed because he had to hesitate as he trimmed so as to not cause an harm. His skill with managing the people of the district pointed to training in diplomacy, and his ability to remain unnoticed for so long marked him as a spy.

It was obvious that the barber knew I was contemplating him as he leaned against a wall in the alley, cleaning his razor and making sure to sharpen it nonchalantly. "So," he said. "It seems I've bailed you out of a mess you couldn't get out of, eh doctore?" He tucked his razor away, and I relaxed, a little. "It was the least I could do, after what happened to your father. I don't normally care about people, but he did me a good turn once, stitched up a wound no questions asked." Then he looked straight at me, his eyes shining with a sort of intelligence that comes with experience. "So tell me, what is it that you've been doing in the middle of night, dressed like that?"

Then I had to think carefully. He knew my identity, meaning that if he tipped off the city guard I would be made an example of within a day. But he had saved me, and whatever his ulterior motives it was better to have him as an ally than as an enemy. So I told him everything. I told him how father and I had stumbled upon a plot to poison a guard captain bearing a letter to a powerful member of the military. How our investigation revealed something more sinister about the Rosa in Fiore and how Father had died trying to find out more. Then I told him of my plan, to hide my identity behind a disguise to interrogate and destroy these destructive elements.

All the while he was listening intently, his eyes flashing once with what looked like astonishment, when I told him what I knew about the secret order. When I was done he was silent for a moment, then he began to speak, this time in hushed tones.

"If everything you have learned is true, you have done me a great service. Such knowledge would be valuable to my employers." Then he paused and looked at the sky, thinking to himself. "I might be able to help you," he said, "I can teach you many things, including fleet-footed combat and how to escape persistent guards." He waved at the nearby by corpse with a smile on his face, "Combine this and your skill with poisons and you'll have an easier time finding your answers."

My heart leapt in my chest. If I could traverse the city without fear of the stray guard happening upon me, or being waylaid by every group of burly thugs or darting thieves, I could work much faster. "All right," I said, "But, I assume this service comes with a price."

His smile shrunk a little as he glanced out of the alleyway. Then he motioned for me to lean in as he began whispering. "All I ask is that you cease your... "investigation" until you've absorbed everything I have to teach you. Then there is the matter of recommending you to my employer. He can provide you with resources that would be of great use to you. It would be much easier than having to steal gondolas and the like from people who might take notice, and I'm sure you could benefit from access to more medical supplies for your legitimate business."

He waited for my nod and proceeded to give me instructions for our first meeting. I was to meet him tommorow dressed in civilian clothing at a vacant workshop he had bought and begin my training. I was to come alone and not tell anyone of our arrangement, or I might end up like the guard.

With that parting warning he removed himself from the wall and walked out into the street, whistling a happy tune. When his whistling faded out of earshot, I made my way home as quickly as possible. I arrived just moments ago and now the sun is rising to greet the day. And I shall rise to meet it.


	8. Chapter 8

Authors notes: I would begin this letter by apologizing for my lateness but I feel that would be simple repetition for my dedicated readers. Instead I have taken the liberty of packing much more content into this chapter to compenesate in some way for my absence. Other good news is that I am finally done with my Finals and can now devote much more time to writing this story. To all of my readers who have held on thsi long there is much more to come. And once again, feel free to comment.

Entry #10

1490

This morning I dressed in my most inconspicuous clothing; a clean shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of faded green pants. I kept my hair just slighlty unkempt andexamined myself in the mirror. "Just the every-man about town," I said to myself adjusting the shirt a little to make myself look a little more relaxed. Then I walked out of the shop and nailed a notice to the door saying I would be gone for the day.

Walking through the city I made sure to stay in crowded areas, ideal for dissapearing among the masses, and followed De Silva's instructions to the letter. I had thought his hideaway would be an unremarkable building tucked away from prying eyes, maybe somewhere in the Campagna district. What I didn't expect was a plush palazzo in Il Vaticano.

As I walked up to the gate one of the guards narrowed his eyes and examined me closely. I informed him of my appointment, keeping my voice steady and non-threatening, and he let me in. However as he closed the gate behind me he warned me about mentioning the barber's name out loud, "Never know who could be listening," he said, motioning to the rooftops with one hand while opening a door for me with the other. I couldn't help but let my gaze wander upward. All I saw was a few pigeons mingling near the edge of one of the rooftops. Was it De Silva's policy to keep insane staff on hand? Oh well, I thought to myself, to each his own.

The palazzo's interior was less of a shock than the outside. Rather than fill his quarters with gaudy furniture and needless pomp, De Silva had the entrance hall of the building redesigned as a training area of some kind which included a circular dirt floor in the very center surrounded by various weapons and training dummies. Some were like those used by soldiers, simple constructs, others were more detailed and had obviously been made for very different training.

As I stepped forward an arm blocked my advance. My host had snuck up on me while I was busy admiring his decorating. "I would not be so eager if I were you," he said pointing at the ground near my feet. Looking down I saw a trip wire, and my eyes followed it across the room and up the wall to my right until it ended at a large bag of some sort, hanging from the ceiling directly above me. "Burning powder," he told me, noticing my curiostiy, "One of my personal favorites. But I'd never want to be on the receiving end, if you catch my meaning, eh doctore?"

I nodded and stepped over the wire carefully. "When you said workshop I assumed you had something with a little less flare to it. Apparently artists have gone up in the world," I said, motioning around at all the grand architecture and the contrast it made with the spartan decorating.

"Ah, this?" he said, brushing some dust off his clothes and looking around the room. "Technically this _is_ a workshop. One of the cardinals in France believes a young artist is making custom pots for him that rival those made in the east and he is willing to pay any price for such excquisite crafstmanship." He said the last two words in a humorous way, obviously mimicking said cardinal. He motioned for me to follow him to the left side of the room where he had pushed a pair of chairs against the wall, facing inward. We turned the chairs toward eachother then we sat down.

"I suppose there is no artist?" I asked him as a servant came in with some water for both of us. I took the wooden cup from him, thanking him for the drink. I smelled it discreetly for any poison and, finding it satisfactory, I begin sipping the water with my eyes still focused on De Silva. My host nodded at the man as he was handed his cup and then he turned to me.

"Technically... No, I hire an actor to pretend to be the artist from time to time, but for the most part I just send forged letters to the cardinal promising new artwork."

"But where does the artwork come from?" I asked, "Surely this man isn't so dense he would let you keep using this palazzo without getting anything in return?"

"You would be suprised how stupid someone can be when they spend their whole life living in luxury as an aristocrat's second son and then buy their way into power with their forefathers' money." He replied, chuckling a little as he said it. "Even so, I know a good smuggler who can get anything into the city without breaking a sweat. Good old Lia, she's even willing to take only half of what I get from the cardinal for her services. With her around I need not worry about eviction any time soon."

"Well, it's a very nice house," I said, smiling a little myself at the mischief this seemingly normal man was orchestrating against some pompous power-grubber. It was rare to find a normal person who was willing to risk their lives making fools out of noblemen.

He finished drinking and stood up. I followed suit and the servant hurried in to take our cups away. "Well, I think it is time we got down to business" he announced leading me over to the training area. "If you are going to get anywhere with your plans you're going to need to toughen up. We'll begin with improving your physique, then we'll work on some "special techniques"," he looked at me for a response, I nodded, then he continued, "For the record this will not only include combat with a variety of light weapons, neither of us is a soldier so dueling will be kept to a minimum and you can forget about heavy weapons, but you will also be given training in surveillance, interrogation, rooftop navigation... I could go on, but then we wouldn't get any work done now would we?"

"I'm ready," I said, keeping my pusle under control and prepping myself for what was to come. I'd never been very athletic, so this would be an all-new experience for me.

"We'll see about that," the barber said, then we began training.

Entries #11-15

1490

Notes: As the next group of entries is only beneficial to our report because it describes the author's accumulation of valuable skills we have removed the areas that do not focus on the author's training.

The last few weeks have been grueling. Every night De Silva trains me mercilessly in an effort to improve my physical condition. His drills are exhausting, but effective, I feel myself grow stronger by the day. Although it would be nice if I didn't have to wake up sore every morning.

He also has me train in hand-to-hand combat, although I find it more difficult than physical training. I can easily anticipate his attacks but they are often too fast to counter. He tells me that when my body can keep up with my mind, I will be ready to learn more. I hope my body catches up before the bruises become permanent.

...

1490

I can not neglect my duties for my training, with Father gone it falls to me to take his place. As such I have spent all my free time going over my father's old notes and books. I memorize every piece of medical information I can and often recite it to myself during training. De Silva thinks it is an interesting subject and encourages me to keep my medical knowledge up-to-date. He even provides me with some incredible texts I've never seen before, filled with knowledge from far off lands.

My physical training is going well, I no longer fear waking up in the morning. I actually enjoy the ordered regimen provided by my drills, and I've even begun breaking practice dummies by accident. De Silva, while he doesn't enjoy replacing his property, is still impressed by my progress. He says my dedication is unheard of.

Even hand-to-hand combat is more enjoyable. I've beginning to become accustomed to my new strength and my mentor's strikes are not so difficult to intercept. I've even managed to give him some of his own bruises. Soon I'll begin more advanced lessons.

...

1491

After completing physical training and hand-to-hand combat, although I am still expected to keep my skills up to par on my own, learning how to use light daggers is a refreshing change of pace.

I begin with a stiletto, a thin, easily concealed blade that is excellent for piercing an enemy. De Silva uses some specially made practice dummies to teach me how to use these. He shows me how the blade is most effective if I drive it up into the chest from under the ribcage. He also reminds me of the importance of piercing the lungs. I silent kill is an efficient kill.

Throwing knives are also on the itinerary, although I have only heard of such a skill being used to amuse onlookers in Carnivale it appears it has a much more deadly side to it. De Silva shows me how to move my wrist to get the most distance out of my throw. My new found strength makes distance easy, but I have to work on my accuracy.

...

1491

My training has only kept evolving over the past months. I am now proficient at hand-to-hand combat, the use of a variety of knives in close-quarters combat, some sword-combat, and throwing knives. Once again Baltasar (I am surprised he wants to be on first-name basis), is impressed by my progress. Now he says I must learn the more "interesting" tricks of the trade.

First he teaches me how to navigate rooftops and track a target far below, usually one of his unwitting guards. While this is difficult at night, I find the lack of drunken rovers or narrow corridors a boon for nightime travel. My newfound skill will also help me formulate escape routes should the need ever arise.

Another new addition to my education is the art of disguise. De Silva shows me how he sneaks out of the palazzo in the morning, dressed as a common, day laborer. His technique is amazing, he is impossible to tell from the real thing! Forgery is also key to this part of the process and I am eager to learn.

Lastly De Silva promises to teach me how to create a "smoke bomb" as he calls it. It is an intriguing device which releases a cloud of smoke when it is violently thrown. I'll make sure to add an annotation to my notes describing the process.

...

1492

A new year like none other. I can not beleive I've come so far. It seems like decades since I first agreed to this training. Now that it is behind me I find myself eager to get to work, and I am not dissapointed. Baltasar says I am ready to meet his employer.

Apparently he is a master spy who works for the highest bidder, and though it would have been reasonable for me to be less trusting of him, I believe that if he wanted to kill me he would have done it a long time ago. In fact I think he's happy he got to pass something on to an apprentice. His hair is starting to gray in certain areas despite the fact that he is in excellent shape. He is older than I thought.

Baltasar seems pleased by my trust and has begun treating me as an equal rather than a student. He is still in the habit of giving me good advice though. "It would be best if you came to the meeting in disguise," he said, sitting across from me on my dining table. He pointed towards the robes hanging on the wall. "The outfit you wore that one night will do. No one will ever see your face under that frightening mask, eh doctore?" He winked at me and then got up to leave.

I followed him to the door and let him out, thanking him for this opportunity. "Nonsense," he said, "You've earned it! Such dedication deserves a reward!" Then his face became serious, "But remember this is your only chance. My employer is not easy to please." Then he became less dreary and patted me on the back for encouragement. Then he left.

Closing the door and bloting it securely, I made my way to the closet and searched for the old blood-stained robes I had worn so long ago. I pulled them out and placed them on a desk, after I made a few adjustments to accomodate for increased movement they fit comfortably over my more built frame. Then I stocked a belt full of poisons, herbs, and other supplies, including Father's syringe.

Then I went to my bed and removed the floorboards I'd loosened to pull out the wooden box where I'd stored the final pieces of my ensemble. I stared into the lenses set into the mask, still filled with that mischievous glint and then gently placed it on my face, making sure to tie it securely.

Finally I placed Father's tri-corner hat firmly on my head ,extinguished the lights in the building and snuck out the back way. The meeting is in a week, and I have to get ready to use this disguise to the best of my ability.


	9. Chapter 9

Entry #16

1492

Notes: This entry details the author's first contact with the highest levels of the Order.

The meeting was more enlightening than I thought it would be. On Sunday Baltasar had me follow him from the slums to our intended destination. I did what I had been trained to do, I tracked him from the rooftops, being sure to stay in the shadows.

He did everything to shake me off; he ducked into crowds, buildings, and even paid some guards to watch out for a masked man prowling the city at night. They didn't last long. The first never saw me, knife through the throat. The second tried to swipe at me at the last second but my right hand winded him and I snapped his spine against my leg. The third was lucky, I only threw him off the building, his skull splattered against the cobbled streets below.

The distractions dealt with I arrived at the meeting place, some old inn with peeled paint and a sign over the door that was so faded it was impossible to read. De Silva had sat down to wait near the door and I dropped down next to him, startling him off his bench. "Bastardo! When did you get so good?" he swore shaking his head, "I've been hearing things about murdered courtesans in your district," he shoved me softly before moving on, "Thirty in a week? Impressive! But, don't you think that's a little excessive?"

I shook my head and I started to speak, the mask muffling my voice, "You told me to cease my investigation until I had completed my training. I had a lot of ground to cover, two years to make up in one week." I shrugged my shoulders innocently, "I'm glad it wasn't a total loss, I found out..." Suddenly he raised his hand, interuppting me.

"Wait until we get inside," He said, "My employer is a little skeptical about your abilities, every little piece of information helps you get on his good side, and believe me, you want to be on his good side." He led me towards the inn knocking three times before the door opened revealing a cloaked guard, his hand on his sword hilt. Then he saw Baltasar and stepped out of the entrance allowing us entry. He stared at my attire as I passed raising an eyebrow, but I paid him no heed.

The inside of the Inn was more secure than I thought it would be. There were a dozen guards stationed around the room, their stance betraying them as veterans. The main room had been stripped of all its contents except for a large wooden table surrounded by several chairs. Seated at the head of the table was the man we had come to see. Baltasar called him the Spaniard, he wore a black cloak with a hood pulled low over his face. While his eyes were obscured I managed to glimpse a beard with slight glimpses of gray at the corners. He was a large man and he had a golden crucifix dangling over his chest. A ring on one of his fingers marked him as a bishop and a rich one at that. He nodded at Baltasar and motioned for him to sit down. He took no notice of me and I chose to remain standing, I did not intend to die if this man didn't find me amusing.

"So Baltasar, you have had many months to find me something of value. Surely it was not all spent learning how to cut hair or training imbecilli?" The spaniard spoke with the accent of a conceited nobleman and motioned towards me as if I was some leper cowering in the corner, I ignored the insult.

The barber responded with his everyday casual tone, "Well Maestro, you'll be glad to know that I have learned something of importance, it appears that the artifact you were seeking has fallen out of enemy hands but has resurfaced somewhere in Toscana. I have men narrowing down the location now but it appears to be in the hands of some "mad monk". However it appears the man of God has been very... efficient about hiding from us." The Spaniard snorted shaking his head.

"With the Apple in hand one hardly needs efficiency to avoid capture, very well then Baltasar, send me letters periodically, I want this monk found!" Something clicked in the back of my head, had he said _apple?_ "What of your apprentice?" The hooded man continued, turning towards me, "I hope he has something to contribute?" Baltasar nodded and I began to speak.

"As Baltasar has probably told you the Courtesans in Roma, particularly those connected to the Rosa in Fiore brothel are connected to a mysterious organization that operates throughout Italia." I paused as the Spaniard nodded, bored listening to what he already knew. "However," I continued, "In the last week I have interrogated several of these courtesans and have retrieved information about an attack on a nobleman known as Ilario Lombardi..." All of a sudden the Spaniard froze his posture betraying new found interest.

"Lombardi?" he said peering at me from under the hood, "That man is one of my best creditors, if he dies I lose a hefty pile of gold I was planning to use when the holy father "retires"." Ah so he was a cardinal, and he eyed the Holy See. Good to know.

"If it interests you that much the putana told me where they had taken him. This imbecille is not a useless as you think." The old man shook with fury and ordered his guards to restrain me. Baltasar just shook his head and massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger. I had seconds to act.

I threw a knife in two guards, then quickly threw a chair at another to make an opening. Four guards tried to get in my way as I made for the door but I reached into my belt and through a pouch of burning powder in their eyes. As they screamed in agony, clutching their faces I made sure to finish all of them. Rodrigo called the remaining guards off as I violently flipped one on his back as he tried to grab me from behind.

"It appears I was mistaken Baltasar," the Spaniard said, standing and walking towards me, "It appears you have been doing something worthwhile for the last two years." He stopped ten feet from me and looked me in the eye, "Tell me, doctore, what should I call you?" He crossed his arms behind his back and brought himself up to full height. Baltasar stopped what he was doing long enough to nod at me approvingly and address the Spaniard.

"The guards call him "Il Malfatto" (The Deformed) because he wears such a disguise. It is assumed he is some monster underneath." Baltasar leaned back against the chair and waited expectantly. The Spaniard shrugged as if saying "why not?" and turned back to me.

"So, "Malfatto"," he said, "it appears you have some skill after all. I need this old man," he motioned towards Baltasar, "To focus on a very specific task, but you, you could do me a little favor could you not?" He reached into his pocket and retrieved a pouch. As he threw it over to me it rang with the sound of coin, I caught it deftly. "I need you," he said, "To rescue Ilario Lombardi. Do this and you can work for me directly. You will have access to my resources, my contacts, and my good will." Then he paused letting it sink in. His voice rose a little when he continued, "But if you fail you will regret having ever been born! Do you understand?"

I nodded back at him, slowly pocketing the coin. "Well," Baltasar said "Now that that's settled I think we should all get to bed. Farewell, Maestro, may you sleep well." He stood up and walked towards the door, motioning for me to follow. I did, nodding at the Spaniard again and closing the door gently behind me. Then Baltasar and I dashed up to the rooftops.

"I think that went well," Baltasar said, his lips curving into a smile. I shook my head.

"How does nearly getting myself killed equate with doing "well"?" I asked.

"First of all he didn't kill you, always a good sign, second he offered you a chance to join him. Most people who try to find employment with him tend to end up floating in the Tiber." He paused on a rooftop to check for pursuers and patted me on the back as I joined him. "Few people impress Rodrigo Borgia."


	10. Chapter 10

Entry #17

1492

Having left Baltasar after our conversation I made my way back home and picked out some supplies. I made sure to store the gold carefully and replace my throwing knives, my burning powder, and fill my syringe with poison.

Once the preparations were complete I exited via the back door and made my way to the roof tops. I climbed to the highest tower in the district, strangling a guard in the process to get some breathing room, and got my bearings.

I knew that Lombardi was being held in a small run down house near the Palazzo Senatorio, I'd been able to squeeze that information out of my last few investigatins. I also knew that every day a parcel of food was brought there by some insects from the Rosa in Fiore. I would hit two birds with one stone.

I waited patiently outside the brothel until one of its degenerate inhabitants emerged accompanied by two others, clinging to each other for safety, as if that would help. I tailed them across the rooftops, suprisingly there were few guards to cause me trouble that night. Maybe my employer already has some influence in the Pope's city.

As my prey neared the bakery they passed through a dark alley, emboldened by the idea that their little maneuver had actually scared me off. I leapt down from my perch landing right behind them. They froze up for a second from fright which gave me just enough time to kill two of them with throwing knives, then I launched myself at the third, silencing her scream with my syringe. When I was satisfied I stabbed her quickly with a knife, I had no time for my usual procedures tonight. Then I let her body fall gently, landing next to the others.

I quickly collected my throwing knives and returned to the roof tops quietly making my way to their intended destination. I stopped on a nearby building to see what I was up against. Apparently a handful of thieves had been assigned to patrol the surrounding area, they were more agile than the guards I'd faced before but they lacked heavy armor and weaponry which made them easier to take care of.

I leapt to the nearest rooftop and quickly took my position behind a chimney. As the first thief walked over to investigate the noise I pulled him behind the chimney roughly and put my knife through his stomach. Then I peaked around the chimney and spotted my next target beginning to dose off near the edge of the third building over. I put him to sleep permanently when I broke his neck.

The next two guards were off-duty huddling for warmth in an alley next to my final destination while they played a game with some die. They were too focused on their game to notice me and I let my throwing knives take care of them. The last guard, however was nowhere to be found.

"He must be inside..." I muttered, throwing thelimp bodies out of sight into a dark corner of the alley. Then I climbed up the wall and quickly grabbed a window ledge pulling myself up and into the building.

The interior of the building was coated with dust and, with the exception of a faint light coming from an adjacent room, apparently uninhabited. I knew that if Lombardi was here he'd have to be there, and the guard would be with him. Making sure my pulse was steady I made my way towards the light, staying close to the shadows in the event my final opponent should walk into the room.

As I peaked into the next room I found the source of the light, a trap door near the wall which was bolted shut. I bent down, pulled the bolt free, and swung the trap door open revealing a ladder that led into a large chamber under the house. As soon as the trap door was open I heard muffled screaming from down below.

I took the ladder two rungs at a time and set myself down in the room below. The chamber was bare with the exception of a lit furnace, and two tables. One was covered with a variety of grisly instruments; knives, thumbscrews, a cudgel embedded with metal studs, a poker stained with soot from the furnace, and a strange device that looked like a a wheel-lock rifle with a small set of prongs attached to the tip where the barrel should have been.

The other table was supporting a man covered in scars whose limbs had been lashed to the table legs by ropes. Muffled screams emanated from the man's mouth, which had been gagged with an old rag. The man went silent and began studying me, his bloodshot eyes moving frantically. I had found Ilario Lombardi.

"Hold still," I said, grabbing a sharp knife from the other table. He immediately started screaming again. I grabbed him by the throat to silence him and tried to calm him. "Rodrigo Borgia sent me, stay quiet if you want to ever see your estate again." He stopped screaming just as suddenly as he had begun. 'That's better,' I thought. I quickly sliced through the restraints around his arms and legs. Then I helped him sit up.

The scars lining his body were obviously causing him great pain as he cringed as I moved to support him. They were spread across his entire body, even his face had been severely burned leaving him with no eyebrows and a mass of peeling flesh. Only his chin had been spared and that didn't help matters. "Can you walk?" I said. He nodded and reached to remove his gag, then his eyes grew wide and he started shouting again. "What is it?" I asked. He raised one hand and pointed behind me. I spun around, and narrowly dodged a fist aimed at my head.

The last guard had entered the room while I had been busy with Lombardi. He was quicker than the others, and as I tried to get him with my knife he dodged my attack smoothly. The man wore a hood over his face and a strange bracer on his left arm. He also had a thin stiletto in his belt and he drew it quickly.

When I moved to strike again I feinted a slash at his forearm. He moved his dagger to block and I took my chance to aim a kick at his groin. My foot made contact and he swore loudly while bending over in pain. I saw my chance, I stabbed downwards aiming for his back, hoping to pierce one of his lungs. But he recovered quicker than I expected and moved out of my way.

He then lunged at me, his knife ready to plunge through my chest. But my kick had done enough to put a dent in his concentration. I dodged him easily and tripped him with my leg sending him stumbling across the room. His momentum shattered, he accidentaly lost hold of his dagger and it spun off into the dark recesses of the chamber.

My opponent managed to regain his composure and lunged at me again, much to my surprise, without a weapon. As I moved to stab him he brought the bracer on his left arm up to meet my blade. At the time I thought this the last, desperate attack of a dead man; the bracer would never deflect my blade in time, I had won. Then he made an odd motion with his hand, and a blade popped out from under the bracer.

My knife bounced off this hidden blade and I was knocked to the ground by his other hand. "Who are you?" the man said, his knife to my throat. I answered his query with silence, not his preferred response. "It doesn't matter," he said, "The Spaniard isn't getting control of Roma, not while I live." Then he brought his arm up, ready to drive the blade into my throat. My throat tightened. I had come all this way, trained so hard, followed in my father's footsteps, and I would die here, without honor, and without making a difference. I closed my eyes. Then I heard a bang accompanied by a loud crack, and I felt his body crumple on top of me.

I opened my eyes and saw the man's hood was soaked with blood. I rolled his lifeless body off me and saw Lombardi standing over me, the strange instrument I had seen earlier in his hand, coated in blood. He'd removed his gag during our fight and was breathing heavily. "Bruciare all'inferno, bastardo!" he shouted at the now harmless corpse. Then he observed his new weapon, turning it over in his hands. "I might keep this," he said, spinning it in his hand, "Who knew it was good for more than killing livestock?"

His joke brought me back to the present situation. We were in a secret chamber, under an abandoned building, with a dead body, the dead body of a political assassin no less. We had to leave, now.

I stood up, motioning for him to come over, and I began stripping the corpse of his clothes. "Here," I said, throwing the clothes at him, "Cover yourself." He looked down at the clothes disgruntled.

"You expect me to wear these filthy rags?" he said with disbelief. I turned slowly, staring at him through the lenses in my mask. He laughed nervously, "Of course, you're right, no time like the present." With that dealt with I unfastened the bracer from the dead man's arm, an amazing piece of machinery this hidden blade, and noticed a ring on his hand.

When I pulled it off his finger I noticed a strange mark underneath. Here was another mystery about this man. None of the other guards I'd killed had any special markings. I took the liberty of severing the finger and packing it for study. I also brought the blade.

Our preparations complete, I led my new companion out of the building. Thankfully our biggest problem was how talkative the nobleman was now that he'd been freed from his subterranean prison. First he began compiling a mental list of what he would do when he got home, then he started speaking to me about his trials, and finally he kept thanking me for rescuing him and complimenting my combat skills.

"Of course," he said as we neared his palazzo, "I did help. But I won't forget your actions doctore. You have gained a friend in Ilario Lombardi!" he held out his hand, a humorous smile on his face. I shook it and left him at the gates calling for his servants. He would be safe, and hopefully he'd improve his security.

...

It is now dusk the next day. I slept all day after last night and I regret closing the shop for a day. I'll spend tomorrow and the day after working here. I have to be careful so my nightly studies don't affect my duties during the day.

On another note I've analyzed the evidence I retrieved last night. I've sketched a replica of the symbol burnt into the finger and it appears to be some sort crest. I've searched through some texts Balthasar gave me that portray various family crests and have found something similar located in Toscana.

Balthasar is searching for this "apple" in Toscana, could this crest have some connection? Was the kidnapping of Ilario Lombardi a ploy by this "mad monk" to prevent the Spaniard from achieving the power and influence of the Holy See? I will keep these musings a secret, until I know more.

As for the weapon I retrieved last night, it is as intriguing a mystery as the crest. It appears that the blade is activated by a pulley mechanism of some kind. It is very old to still be in good working condition, I'll keep it as a souvenir of sorts.

One thing is for certain. From now on I am in the employ of Rodrigo Borgia. I even received a chest of gold from Balthasar today which he'd received to pay me with. But I must be cautious, I can't let this eclipse Father's work. On a final note I must train more, I can not risk another close-call.


	11. Chapter 11

Entry #18

1493

The last few months have been quiet. Well as quiet as my life can be. I've restricted my nightly duties to one or two parasites per week. Baltasar had a point, I don't want to be excessive. Normally I try to aim for the more experienced targets. If the infantry sees the officers dropping they lose more morale than if one of their own had fallen.

However, some nights I am lucky enough to catch a group, defiantly flaunting themselves in bars, which I pick off one by one as they leave with their clients. I kill the men first, quick and clean, like a surgical cut, then I begin my real work. I'm done with all of them within two hours.

Meanwhile my medical duties during the day have benefited from my recent financial assistance. I have more than enough supplies for my patients, and my newfound freetime has given me a chance to prove myself as my father's succesor. The people believe I have been studying under another doctor after Father's death which helps me avoid awkward questions about the last two years.

As expected Rodrigo Borgia attained the Bishopric of Rome, apparently paying one of his competitors four mule loads of silver and a fortune in papal hand outs. So far he's done nothing of consequence, although having five illegitimate children and a group of deadly agents isn't exactly what one expects from the head of the Church. But I can't complain, I'm being paid handsomely and given an opportunity to pursue my own investigations. I only wish I had more time on my hands as my sleep patterns have become very irregular. Health concerns will have to wait however, I have a meeting tonight with my "supervisor".

According to Baltasar his investigation in Tuscana has led to Firenze and he has been dispatched to oversee the soldiers there. Apparently the pope doesn't trust his generals enough to let them handle "The Apple". So, while he is out of the city, another one of Borgia's agents has been assigned to handle my assignments. I will continue this journal entry once I have returned.

My meeting was more informative than I thought it would be. I made my way to the Mausoleo di Augusto, pulled the door open, and began walking through the inner crypt. As I walked I took the time to observe my surroundings. The mausoleum was a labyrinth of cramped tunnels lined with niches as far as the eye could see. Each of these apertures bore some fanciful enscription naming its contents, although I think "Pile of Bones" would be a more appropriate label. The only source of light in these hallways were the occasional candle melting in the center of some noble's forgotten remains.

After walking for some time through the dimly lit hallways I found my destination, a small alcove set off for an entire family. Since I was early I sat down on an ancient altar in the center of the room and read the name inscribed over the far edge of the room, Colonna. Then I heard footsteps echoing down the hallway, three distinct sets of footsteps.

The footsteps I could hear clearest, obviously those of the leader, were moving at a brisk pace and hitting the floor hard, here was a man of purpose. He never faltered keeping his rythm and pace synchronized. His followers, on the other hand, sounded far less professional. One of them kept pausing momentarily to get his bearings, and the other kept bumping into his companion. I could even hear the latter swear a little as the group drew closer to me. Convinced these were not men who meant me harm I relaxed a little and looked expectantly at the door.

Much to my surprise I knew the first man to come through the door. Teodor Viscardi had done well for himself since last we met. His new uniform was the perfect blend of functionality and fashion. Made with enough flexibility to fight in but with embroidery fine enough to adress dignitaries. It was good to see a man worthy of respect had been rewarded so well. I'd heard snippets of his career here and there, mostly military maneuvers in Romagna and regulation of the barracks I had first met him in, but all rumors pointed to him as a favorite among the people, a man who did his duty and doled out justice fairly.

He caught sight of me sitting casually on the altar, my elbows on my knees while I supported my head with clasped hands. Without any hesitation he looked me up and down, pausing for a moment at my mask and my belt. Then he folded his arms behind his back, and waited for his companions to enter.

The first was a young man about my age, dressed in a noble's attire. He had short black hair and light stubble. When he saw me he froze a little, betraying his surprise, then he immediately moved to a corner of the room. He had cruel eyes, I had no doubt he'd killed before, but he was obviously out of his element, used to dealing with the familiar and commonplace not meeting mysterious doctors in underground caverns. Once he was situated in the corner he turned to watch his companion walk into the chamber.

The last newcomer was a man of about seventeen to eighteen years of age. His hair was cut short, just like the last man, but everything else about him was very different. He had a thin beard growing around his mouth and was constantly wearing an exagerated looking scowl. He wore clothes that oozed wealth and power and even wore an ornate chestplate. However his attempt to look impressive was ruined by the fact that his clothes were coated in dust from the catacombs and his breastplate had obviously been designed for a larger man.

When he saw me he jumped and swore loudly, then he turned to Viscardi. "What is the meaning of this?" he said, his voice echoing off the walls. "You mean to tell me father made me walk through this filthy place, in the middle of the night to meet with some lunatic?" While he was shouting at Viscardi he had lifted an arm and waved it at me dismissively.

'Ah', I thought to myself. Now I understood what was going on here. I had heard that Rodrigo had brought his son Cesare into the city with him upon moving into Il Vaticano. The boy, as his behavior made clear, was everything I expected of a nobleman's son. Haughty, arrogant, spoiled, and deluded with a sense of entitlement. Everything had to go his way all the time. He was obviously here because his father had sent him to learn about the family business, and to get out of his hair. Even the breastplate made sense now, it had been made for his brother, now dead under suspicious circumstances.

The Officer was like a brick wall against the young Borgia's verbal jabs. "Now that all are accounted for let us begin tonight's business," Viscardi said, getting Cesare to shut his mouth and move over to his friend in the corner. Viscardi, not having taken his eyes off me the entire time, continued speaking, "Malfatto I presume?" he adressed me directly, and waited for my nod before continuing. "Last year you gained employment by rescuing Illario Lombardi is that correct?"

I nodded again, I didn't want to speak unless absolutely necessary, the more to the point the better. He went on, "According to Lombardi you managed to eliminate all the guards and their leader, a man we are convinced had some connection with the Holy Father's enemies. A sweep of the neighbourhood also uncovered a group of murdered courtesans carrying supplies we believe were intended for Lombardi's captors. Given your past actions I have no doubt you were the one responsible for their deaths and, rest-assured, we have made sure that the Rosa in Fiore brothel will be closely monitored." I saw Cesare grin a little when he heard the brothel's name, I would have to find out what he had done to cause such mirth.

"The Holy Father thanks you for your efforts and has another task he would like you to accomplish for him." Viscardi paused as he removed a roll of parchment from his coat and handed it to me. I saw it bore the papal seal and the wax was still drying. "He wants you to begin searching for the men behind the kidnapping and bring an end to them, quietly of course. We believe they are still inside the city and we hope that you will find them soon so that we can make an example of them." Then he pointed at the scroll he had handed me, "More detailed information is located in the letter I've just given you, read it, memorize it and burn it. I hope you understand?" He stopped and watched as I nodded my head in assent. Then he returned my nod and said, "Good, I hope to hear from you every week in this same spot, good night doctore." Then he turned and walked out, still keeping the same pace as when he'd come in. Cesare, still angry about his predicament, stormed out comically and his friend, as emotionless as ever, followed after.

I've placed the letter somewhere safe, for now. I will read it tommorow when I have time. For now I need my rest, I was reminded by my earlier note to avoid erratic sleep patterns. I'm going to need to be at my best performance level tommorow if I'm going to be launching a city-wide investigation.


	12. Chapter 12

Entry #19

I find it wise to interject here as the purpose of this file is to display evidence of the narrator's skills while compiling a detailed account of his activities during this crucial time period. The entries at this point alternate between daily medical accounts involving several broken limbs, a handful of burns, STDs (entries which are written in a more aggressive tone), and approximately 72 different births over a period of two years. These entries have been omitted, for obvious reasons. Meanwhile the other entries detail the author's aggressive campaign against enemies of the Pope and have been fully transcribed in the next few entries.

-1493 (The week following the last entry)

The sun set less than an hour ago, and it is safe to begin my investigations. I believe, much to my chagrin, that I will have to use less forceful means to obtain any leads this time. The errand boy at the Rosa in Fiore tells me that their leader was taken today by Borgia guards and that Cesare has had a puppet put in her place. This "Madame Solari" is as filthy a bitch as one can find, but she's Cesare's bitch so not only can I not touch her, but the organization that trickled information through the brothel will now avoid it like the plague.

Thankfully, Baltasar trained me to be ready for this type of situation. A handfull of dirt to smear in my hair and over my face, a rag to tie around my head, and a pair of filthy worker's clothes I'd kept after their owner was brought in for falling down the stairs of a local tavern (idiot broke his neck), and I had the perfect disguise. Baltasar's training had also involved learning the mannerisms of a variety of professions. Sailors always got in fights, carpenters drank little, servants from noble houses were almost always condescending, and vagrants were always drunk.

However, criminals were a different sort, they kept to themselves but were always on the look out for incoming talent. The more skilled their recruits the better. If I want to find any leads I'll have to draw their interest, and I know just where to start.

...

Il Cinghiale Rosso, if I were to ever visit hell I would still see less human filth than I saw in that place. Located in the poorest part of the district it is rumored to be the headquarters of a guild of thieves, a rumor that I find hard to discredit given its clientele. As I walked into the tavern I saw a group of men throwing a fellow patron on the ground and kicking him in the stomach over and over. Working hard to supress my rage as the man began vomiting his own blood, I walked up to the bar and ordered a drink.

After the bartender, a bored looking man with a scar running down his left cheek, had finished sizing me up he shrugged and brought me my drink. He held his hand out for my money, completely oblivious to the violence behind me, and I dropped the coin into his upturned palm. While he pocketed the coin, I made my way over to a table in the far corner of the room and sat down to examine my surroundings.

The group of men were no longer kicking their victim on the ground, they'd pinned him to the wall and were now taking turns pounding him with their fists. The rest of the room was filled with groups of broody, scarred men roaring in approval of the violence. They pounded the tables with their fists, they jeered insults at the victim, and shouted encouragement at the thugs. Meanhile the bartender continued to ignore the violence, doling out drinks and counting his money. This was total chaos, the uninhibited bestial side of human nature, and they relished it. It made me sick.

Feinting sips of my drink I kept alert for any abnormalities, any thing that would point me to any leadership in this maelstrom of activity. And then something unexpected did happen, a girl burst into the tavern. Her light brown hair coated in sweat, her clothes a shoddy pair of trousers and an old dress shirt with a layer of filth on her frilled sleeves. Most out of the ordinary was the look of complete terror on her face.

When she saw the brawl in the corner she screamed, "Fratello!" Then she charged towards the thugs drawing what appeared to be half a pair scissors from her belt. She jumped on to one of the men, giving herself a piggy-back ride, and brought the scissor blade down twice through the man's chest bringing him crashing down. The other men, noticing their fallen comrade, dropped their victim and moved away from the girl as she ran over to the fallen man.

Cradling his bruised face in her arms she cried the word "Brother," several times as his breathing grew more ragged. It appeared that the man was trying to whisper something to her, but I was quickly distracted by movement in another part of the room. While most of the room was looking on at the pair of siblings on the floor, the two remaining thugs had snatched a bottle from a nearby table and were approaching the girl quietly from behind. The girl, focusing to much on her brother, didn't see the first blow, but she certainly felt it as she was sent flailing to the side by the force of impact.

Her two attackers, convinced that without the element of surprise she was useless, pinned her down and began ripping at her clothing big toothy grins revealing their decaying teeth. The girl screamed and struggled to get loose, but one of the men just slapped her across the face as his partner continued ripping her clothes off. I couldn't take it anymore.

As the two attackers tossed the tattered remains of her shirt aside they didn't notice me approach them from behind. The first was easy, I plunged my knife through his neck and the blood gushed out. His friend, releasing the girl in shock, didn't react fast enough as my foot connected with his stomach and in a blind rage I began kicking him in the stomach as he had done to the girl's brother. He begged for me to stop as he began to spit up blood, then I was brought out of my rage as I heard movement behind me.

The girl had gotten on her knees and crawled over to her brother. I left the thug on the floor and walked over to join her. I crouched down to examine the body looking for a pulse in the man's neck. I found none. I laid him down on the floor gently and said, "He's dead."

The girl, now completely beside herself latched on to me, her tears staining my shirt. I carefully led her over to my table in the corner and sat her down, then I called to the bartender for another drink and a rag, preferrably clean. As he looked at me, now stunned by my sudden show of force, I threw him some coins to speed up his delivery. When I had what I wanted I soaked the rag in the alcohol and began examining the girl's head. Thankfully no shards of glass had been lodged in her scalp but she was bleeding more than I'd have liked. I began applying the rag to her wound, disinfecting it as much I could, much to my surprise she began speaking to me.

"So do you do this to all the young girls?" she asked, trying to sound confident even though the trauma of her brother's death was causing her voice to crack and tears continued to run down her cheek. She tried her best to cover her chest with her arms as she flinched from the alcohol, this girl was stronger than most people I've met.

"Only those who get themselves in over their heads," I replied, then I motioned to the bartender for something to cover her with. He brought a blanket from the room and accepted a coin as I stopped applying the rag for a second to cover my patient with a blanket.

"Quite frankly," I continued, "I find it hard to believe that a young woman chose the streets over the brothel." She was no whore, that much was obvious from her appearance, courtesans always tried to look pretty on the outside no matter what filth lay within. This girl was obviously malnourished and hadn't bathed in a long time, she'd also never worn a dress, the visible flesh on her legs was too dark.

"I'm the odd one out, aren't I?" she said, chuckling quietly as she picked up my abandoned drink from earlier and began taking small sips, the alcohol helped her relax. "This is the first time that's been to my advantage, by the way my name's Faustina, Faustina Collari." She looked at me expectantly, awaiting my introduction, I used the name I'd created for this alias, "Bernardo Vozzi, I came in from the country recently, looking for work."

"My advice," she said craning her neck to look me in the eye, "Go back home, there's nothing here, unless you work for Augustino Barbieri, he runs the biggest thieve's guild in town." I nod, soak the cloth in more alcohol, and reapply it to her now stable wound.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, "Now, I want you to keep this rag pressed to your head and go to the nearest medico. If you don't trust any of them, I know a man who owns a clinic a few blocks over. Just ask for the old doctor's son, he should be able to give you stitches, tell him I sent you.

She nodded and looked up at me, her tears now dry and a small smile on her face, "Thank you, I won't forget this," she said. Then she walked over to her brother's corpse, closed his eyes, picked up her scissor blade, and walked out the door. Satsified that she'd left the bar, I turned to the man I'd left on the floor.

While I had been tending to the girl's wound he'd been slowly trying to get away, but the damage I'd inflicted earlier was too much for him to shake off so quickly. He had only managed to stumble to his feet when I grabbed his throat and pinned him on a nearby table, scattering the patrons seated there and sending their drinks flying in all directions. "Where can I find Augustino Barbieri?" I asked, squeazing his throat.

I loosened my grip just enough to hear his response, "Has meetings... Every week... Bartender locks up the place... Please, don't kill me!" I applied more pressure to his throat, hearing him wheeze, then I knocked him out with a bunch to the head. With one problem solved I turned to the bartender.

"After that, the boss'll be dying to meet you. Come in two days from now and you can get acquainted!" The bartender sputtered out quickly. He was nervous now, but he was right, the Borgia had tightened security, thieves were dying every day, Barbieri would be more than willing to offer me work.

I tossed the bartender some more coin and walked out. When I was sure no one could see me, I made for the rooftops, I had to get back to the clinic quickly and get out of my disguise in case the girl showed up, I don't want anyone getting suspicious.

...

I beat her back here by a good ten minutes, more than enough time to get clean and back to my normal appearance. The girl walked in, a little apprehensive, but no worse than I'd last seen her. I treated her wound again, this time with real equipment, and sent her on her way. She was quiet during the entire procedure but I won't blame her, she felt safe talking to a fellow vagabond, but a doctor with a well kept clinic? Out of the question.

I locked the door after she left and wrote this entry in my journal. At least tonight yielded some fruit, if anyone knows who the pope's enemies in Roma are, it's the Thieves Guild.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: So here we are, the next chapter. I understand that this took an eternity to write but, as a writer, I have an easy time knowing where my character is coming from and where he's going to end up. However this particular part of the story was hard for me to fill in, as it is only a stepping stone on the way to much more interesting events to occur after it. After wrestling with it for a long time a friend of mine gave me some advice and I took it to heart, crafting this chapter. I would appreciate it if you would check out his art work on deviantart (look for timelessunknown) . Enjoy, and as always comments are appreciated.

Entry #20

The next relavant entries have been condensed into the following excerpt which summarize the author's undercover work

My first meeting with Augustino Barbieri was very straightforward, which was not too surprising from the man running half of Roma's organized crime. Barbieri was by no means an old man, his body bore no signs of physical decay, but his face was a garbled mess from all of the scars criss-crossing it. I could also tell he'd torn some muscles in his left leg by the way he put all the pressure on the right side of his body. Apparently he wasn't as untouchable as the rumor mill claimed.

Of course the half dozen armed thugs that stood guard on either side of the room made this information irrelevant. As I'd expected it would be foolish to go for the direct approach, I would have to win my way into the guild. Once that was done I would remove the tumor Barbieri had nurtured in Roma.

I'd returned to Il Cinghiale Rosso as instructed and waited at a table in the corner. After half an hour of waiting I'd been escorted up the stairs into a noticeably cleaner room and put face to face with my next target. The famed guildmaster started by explaining, with an admirable attention to detail, that even though he was impressed by accounts of my ruthlessness he would not tolerate violence among his subordinates. After nodding in agreement he began giving me instructions.

"Since you're willing to kill men over a bar brawl I've decided to put you on Guido's team taking care of some competition. You'll rendevouz with my men on a rooftop near the Antico district. I've heard you're from out of town , need directions? No? Then we're done here."

...

Guido is everything a good enforcer should be. He's loud, strong as a plow horse, and hits anything smaller than him. The man is quick to blame others for his own mistakes and strikes out at those who defy him. While these qualities make him a loathsome human being, they are ideal when his job is rounding up rival gangs. His success in this endeavour will win us Barbieri's favor and bring me a step closer to bringing down the guild. Which is why I resist the urge to beat him within an inch of his life.

The Cento Occhi are a new group that moved in from northern Italia, at first they stayed on the outskirts of the city, raiding the occasional caravan. In recent weeks, however, they've become bolder. They strike at civilians in the inner city and have even assaulted a few of the Borgia's guards. I am preparing to go out on a routine strike against them, we intend to lure them into an ambush and then take them apart. It took some time to convince Guido it was his idea but enough alcohol in a man's system will make him believe anything.

...

A month gone by already, and the operation is going well. I've been subtly pushing Guido in the right direction and we've captured three Cento Occhi patrols so far. Barbieri is pleased with our progress and has been moving us around the city to reinforce the guild's key safehouses. I've been relaying all of this to Viscardi and we've been organizing an offensive of our own.

Meanwhile, I've been performing nightly reconnaissance on my new "allies" to probe for any weakness in their organization and ascertain their true motive. Simple criminals wouldn't have the ambition to make attacks on the Borgia, and I intend to root out their real leaders.

...

I've assembled a list of Barbieri's highest ranked lieutenants and stalked them to their safe zones, they were very alert, but they are like children after my training with Baltasar. Most of them aren't much older than I am, one of the costs of their criminal lifestyle no doubt. If all goes well they won't live much longer.

One of my quarries was kind enough to leave his ledger behind after fleeing from the arms of a jilted lover. While the woman's screams spoke volumes about his fidelity his records told me something much more interesting. It seems a cut of all revenues from the guild are sent to a bank near Firenze, located in a walled town called Monteriggioni . I will have to pass this information along to Viscardi and see if his informants can acquire some more information.

...

Only one new piece of information to report today. My evening strolls have been rather uneventful of late as my work within the guild has caught Barbieri's eye. He invited both Guido and I to another audience with him at Il Cinghiale Rosso and expressed his satisfaction with our movements against the Cento Occhi. Our well executed raids have left them with very little ground to cover, although this would have ended much sooner if I was able to use poisons and subterfuge. Unfortunately Guido and his men lack subtlety so I am forced to work with what I have.

However, I feel my efforts are not wasted. When Barbieri complemented us on our well executed ambush in the Antico district he made a point of looking at me, ignoring Guido. He knows his men better than I thought. Although I will have to keep an eye on the thug from now on, he's sure to resent me after this.

Once we were dismissed, and Guido had pushed past me and out into the street, I lingered for a few minutes. I listened to gossip in the tavern, sitting in the corner pretending to nurse a drink. Most of it was pointless but one small conversation drew my attention.

Two thieves were bragging of their past exploits, and amid all the tales of quick escapes and rooftop chases one of them spoke a name I'd heard only once, years ago. His name was Severino and he boasted about his time spent in Venezia, where he met a living legend of the Thieves Guild.

"I ran with Ezio!", he said thumping his chest proudly as his companion choked on beer. "It was six years ago when I was under Antonio de Magianis. The man ran like the wind! He leapt from roof to roof as if he were a grasshopper!" I filed away the name Antonio de Magianis for later scrutiny and left the building, trying to examine what I had just heard. The last time I had heard the name "Ezio" was when Father uttered it years ago, when all this conspiracy began. But I must focus on my current task before pursuing some far off ghost. Once the Thieves Guild is in ruins, then I will find this assassin.

...

Finally! Months of meticulous planning, sleepless nights, and violent confrontations have come to fruition. We tracked the Cento Occhi to their lair, an old ruin in the Antico district, ignored by the city guard and shunned by the locals. Guido had other groups join us as we approached the decrepit remnant of a golden age to make our final strike on our exhausted enemy.

As we approached the entrance I made sure to move men to cover the exits, as I'd scouted out the location last night. However I was surprised when Guido ordered me to join one of the teams. It seems he's finally decided to get rid of me, the cornered rats will fight hard to escape. But I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me die.

As we took up our positions I readied the set of throwing knives I snuck onto the trip, suspecting such treachery. They were dipped in poison strong enough to kill a bull. They would make short work of my opponents.

Then the carnage began. On Guido's signal the main force charged into the ruin tearing the inhabitants apart. Seeing an inevitable loss, the battered Cento Occhi made for the exits only to be met by more attackers. I threw my first knife at a blue-eyed youth who screamed as the blade pierced his flesh. Next came a heavy set thug with dirt smeared under his eyes. My blade sliced through his throat and he fell to his knees. A thin youth, hardly more than a boy. I hit his thigh. A man with long, filthy hair hanging over his eyes took a blade to the stomach. Yet they still came. I threw knife after knife, and the thieves around me cut through their fair share of bodies. But eventually I was forced to use the short blade I kept for close range combat.

I was surgical in my attacks, striking weakpoints as quickly as possible. Thankfully I'd taken the liberty of poisoning this blade as well. As I gutted one opponent after another my fellow attackers fell around me until many of the opponents began running through gaps in the defense. As I took notice of this, and pierced a dark haired man's left lung, I also saw Guido making his way through the throng inside towards the exit.

For a moment I assumed he was coming to assist me, but I quickly rid myself of this delusion. He'd been quiet and reticient ever since our meeting with Barbieri. He knew that I would receive credit for the sucess of the operation, and he wanted that all to himself.

As he lunged at me I let the rest of the chaos around me fade into the background. Guido was big, and he knew how to use his size. But he attacked savagely, with no tactics or skill, only the rage of a wild beast on the hunt. I dodged his dagger with little difficulty and managed to give him a gash on his left arm. But the poison had been diluted by all of the other people I'd killed and Guido was too enraged to feel the pain. So I became more aggressive. As he brought his right arm forward for a thrust I used my arm to push his hand to the side, putting him off balance. Then I quickly thrust my dagger into his abdomen three times making sure to pierce vital organs and blood vessels. As I pulled my knife from his body Guido stumbled back, looking at me with a shocked expression on his face, and then he fell, face forward, on the body of another dead man.

While I watched Guido die I noticed the fighting had shifted away from my location and towards some of the other exits. I turned to see one of the Cento Occhi who had escaped the carnage staring at me. I must have looked like a monster, a lone figure in a sea of death, as I observed him, too tired to care about chasing after him and his fellow survivors. One of these others shouted back to him, "Lanz, fretta!"

Upon hearing his companion's words "Lanz" ran off to join the last remnants of the Cento Occhi. Meanwhile I was left behind to lead the triumphant Thieves Guild members home.

...

Barbieri was there to greet us and congratulate us on our sucess. He especially praised my planning abilities, admitting his belief that Guido had merely followed my lead while trying to curry favor.

He is preparing a victory celebration to commemorate the defeat of the Guild's only serious rivals in Roma. I have already alerted Viscardi, this is when we will strike. As Barbieri and all his underlings are gathered in one place the Thieves Guild will meet a worse fate than the Cento Occhi, because now I don't have simpletons like Guido to hold me back.


	14. Chapter 14

Entry #21

1495

Viscardi and I met in his office two hours after dark, I came in my regular uniform, mask and all. He hid his shock well, although he did reach for his weapon when I knocked on the window. I had made my way to his office with more difficulty than I expected, his guards were on the lookout for men on the rooftops, and had reached the window as Viscardi was pacing back and forth across the length of his office. He released the latch and walked back to his desk while I entered the room.

"Well, "Malfatto", I assume you're here to discuss tonight's attack?" I nodded and he continued, "You've done better than I would have hoped, to have Barbieri and all his lieutenants gathered in one place will let us cripple the Thieves Guild with a single strike. I do regret that our casualties will be more severe than expected, your two year campaign against the Cento Occhi has left most of the Guild intact," he stopped and the corners of his mouth twitched a little, "It seems that sometimes your efficiency can backfire."

I took one of the vials from my belt and handed it to him. As he examined the bottle with confusion I decided to break the silence, "It's a potent poison of my own creation, place a drop or two on all your guards' weapons and they'll become much more efficient." Viscardi's eyes lit up for a moment and he held the vial up to the lantern in his office. Then he regarded some reports on his desk and turned back to me.

"It's a good plan, doctore, but their numbers are still too great. I've already doubled the amount of troops I'm bringing and if I bring anymore city patrols will suffer. " He pulled out a map of the city and motioned to markings he'd made in every district, "I've calculated the most efficient method of spreading guard patrols across the city to make sure, if any of the thieves do manage to escape, the collateral damage will be kept to a minimum." Then he motioned towards a large red mark on the map, "But, the net must at least hold the big fish, I'm going to be present myself to make sure of it, but I hope you can provide support from the inside."

As I turned towards the window and began to make my exit I replied, "I have another surprise planned for the rats, don't worry, your men will be like reapers at harvest. Unfortunately, the lower ranked thieves will not be attending, but with their leaders cut off they will be scattered and disorganized, easy prey." Before he could inquire further I leapt towards a rooftop below the window and made my way to a safe house I had established nearby. I am there now, preparing for the Guild dinner, I'll continue this entry once I've returned.

...

Despite the horrid stench now paired with my clothing, and the weariness gnawing at my mind, I must chronicle the events of the last few hours. Once I had finished the first half of this entry I quickly exchanged my uniform for the shoddy workman's clothes associated with the thief Bernardo Vozzi, slipped some extra throwing knives into the holsters common on thieves' belts, concealed a stiletto in my boot should my dagger be confiscated, and stored a pair of vials from my stock of medical supplies in my satchel before making my way to Il Cinghiale Rosso.

The tavern was like the mythical box of Pandora, holding all manner of evil within its walls. Walls which, like the aforementioned box, would prove an inadequate prison for the likes of Augustino Barbieri and his thieves. The bar room had been cleared of all its small, circular, tables to make way for a large rectangular one placed in the center of the room to create a makeshift dining room. It was bedecked in a bright red table cloth as well as dishware and cutlery made of actual silver (thievery had served Barbieri well). The Tavern's interior was also unrecognizable as the walls had been covered in banners of many colors and designs and its omnipresent filth had somehow been wiped away. The leaders of the guild were all dressed in fairly expensive attire, no doubt thinking their victory against the Cento Occhi had made them feel invincible or they would have taken greater care in hiding their opulence. However they were not complete fools, each one had made sure to bring a pair of his own underlings to the party swelling the group to a dangerous size of over seventy men.

Not wishing to be in their company for longer than necessary I made my way to Barbieri who, upon seeing me approach greeted me with a smile. "Saluti Vozzi!" he shouted, slapping me on the back, "I am glad to see the man responsible for our good fortune has made it to my humble party!" I thanked him for his complement and assured him that my plan would not have been successful without the combined effort of the other thieves and, of course, the leadership of the late Guido. "Guido?" Barbieri replied chuckling, "We both know he couldn't have led a band of pigs to the trough! No Vozzi, you have proven yourself a skilled thief, sometimes I see my younger self in you." He laughed again and the scars on his face stretched obscenely. I let him finish and took advantage of the lull in the conversation to begin executing my plan.

"Signor Barbieri," I said, "Since I am so highly esteemed, may I beg a small favor?" Barbieri looked at me with jovial curiosity.

"Yes, of course Vozzi, if it is in my power I will do so, as long as it is indeed a small favor," he said. This was my chance. Keeping my voice level I inquired as to whether I could enter the kitchen and have a preview of the night's fare. He consented, amused at such a simple request but brushing it aside as a result of my life of poverty and inadequate meals. Thanking him I made my way to the kitchen.

There I observed a group of thieves, former servants having been fired from noble households for some offense or another, busily preparing the food. A fragrant stew was bubbling in an iron pot over a fire place, a roast boar of tremendous girth was undergoing its final stages of seasoning, fresh loaves of bread were being pulled from the wood fired oven, and platters were piled with succulent fruit. The stew would come first, a precursor to the hearty meal ahead, and so I made my way to the servant that was tending to it.

"Signor Barbieri has made a special request for the stew," I said to him, acting the part of humble messenger. He looked at me bewildered, but did not question for a moment the veracity of my claims. He merely asked what the request was. "He would like you to add one more spice to the dish," I replied, removing one of the vials I had grabbed earlier from my satchel and handing it to him, "He would like you to mix this into the stew thoroughly before it is served, he suspects it will heighten the flavor." He took the vial from me and quickly followed my instructions as I returned to the other guests.

The next hour or so was spent drinking wine or, in my case, pretending to sip wine as Barbieri introduced me to his lieutenants and recounted tales of past deeds (which would have gotten him a long painful death at the hands of his victims had he been caught). The other thieves at the party barely hid their indignation at seeing Barbieri treat me so well. I listened patiently to his stories until he announced the beginning of dinner, then we all sat down at the table. Barbieri at the head, his most trusted lieutenant to his right and me, the guest of honor, to his left. The stew was brought out in a large serving dish, the steam escaping into every corner of the room and bringing the most mouth-watering fragrance with it. However I didn't care about the food, I quietly spooned it into my mouth, taking care not to eat too quickly.

Then I made a show of dropping my fork and pretended to sheepishly dive under the table to retrieve it, much to the amusement of the thieves. Once I was concealed by the table cloth I quickly removed the second vial from my satchel, downed its contents, returned it and grabbed my fork. Now confident that my plan had gone smoothly so far I finished my stew at a leisurely pace alongside the other guests.

With the first course complete Barbieri's servants brought in the boar, which elicited cheers from the diners, and placed it on the table. As they were about to begin serving the beast a peculiar ailment began to manifest in the leadership of the thieves guild. One of the lesser lieutenants was the first to crack, vomiting the contents of his stomach all over his neighbor, who promptly let loose a torrent of his own dinner. One by one every single person seated at the table did the same, and then discovered they could not stop, even worse they found their vision blurry and the world spun around them. As Barbieri was struck with this infirmity he started shouting for assistance in between vomiting. Coming to his aid I left my chair, the antidote I had taken earlier counteracting the poison I had put in the stew, and steadied him as he attempted to regain control of his body.

As his eyes turned to me pleadingly, no longer those of an accomplished thief but of a man in severe pain, I did what I had come to do. I pulled the knife from my belt and stabbed him through the throat, his eyes widening in terror as he choked on his own blood. The other thieves, watched on horrified, but had great difficulty comprehending my actions. Then, as they moved to unsheathe their own weapons, Viscardi and his men stormed the tavern.

Having been alerted by the commotion inside, the Officer had ordered his guards to attack. They were pouring in through the tavern's main entrance and the small kitchen door, slaughtering the bewildered servant-thieves and rushing into the main room. I called to Viscardi as I saw him enter the room and he quickly realized my identity and ordered his guards not to attack me and focus their efforts on the other thieves. Despite the poison the dinner guests still outnumbered the guards by about thirty men, however they fought poorly and soon the guards' poisoned weapons took their toll on the demoralized thieves. I joined in, using all my throwing knives to quickly dispatch several foes and pulled the stiletto from my boot to begin killing the men at close range.

I suppose Bernardo Vozzi would have been less nonchalant about killing them, they were his fellow thieves after all. But the persona of Vozzi was dead, after tonight he will be destroyed completely, and now Malfatto had risen from the depth of my being and brought all my pent up anger with him. These worms had spent their entire lives working to destroy the livelihood of others all while claiming to be friends of the poor. They had funneled money off to their own hidden banks outside of Roma and had profited from the misery of the people, like parasitic fleas draining the lifeblood of the city, of the people that Father had devoted himself to, and for what? To imitate the nobles they so despised? No, I would not let them continue killing the city day by agonizing day. With Viscardi's help I would cut them out immediately.

The Officer himself used his short spear to great effect, efficiently bashing in skulls or quickly stabbing through their internal organs. His guards were less efficient but well trained and took only small wounds as they methodically slaughtered their opponents. In the end, the bodies of our enemies were scattered around the tavern and their blood was all over our clothes. Then we all left the battleground, the guards had not taken a single casualty.

Having his men take their wounded away, Viscardi turned to me and gave me a slight bow. "I must admit, doctore," he said, a wry smile on his face, "I didn't think much of you when I first heard we would be working together. Baltasar de Silva is a skilled master spy, and I knew he would not have trained you if you did not have potential. However I thought you were a madman who would only lead to unnecessary casualties," he paused for a moment to look at the tavern, and then continued, "I now see I was wrong, you infiltrated the thieves' guild, gained their trust by working relentlessly for two years, fed me information on their secret activities, and then arranged a killing blow to their leadership taking every precaution to minimize the damage to my men." He looked back at me and held out his hand, "I am proud to welcome you into the Borgia's most trusted circle of agents. I am sure a man of your skill and dedication will be a great asset to the group and I will enjoy working with you in the future."

I shook his hand, pleased to have earned the respect of an individual who valued order as much as I did and pleased to have earned the trust of the most powerful family in all of Italia. Then I made my way back to the safe house, changed into a different disguise and returned home to finish this entry.

From now on I will meet with the other agents at a different location each week. I will also be receiving a hefty reward for my service to the city which will help buy supplies for the clinic and my nighttime activities. But most importantly, I will finally begin to understand the conspiracy which has ruined so many lives and amputate those responsible from the rest of society.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Entry #22

1495

As I climbed over the walls of the Castel Sant'Angelo, I concealed myself in the shadow of a rampart, letting an unwitting guard pass by my hiding place. This week's meeting was earlier than usual. From what Viscardi had told me the situation in Firenze had not improved. The mad monk had shored up his forces and his followers were so fanatic that even Baltasar could not convince them to betray his secrets. The situation had worsened abroad while the Borgia's efforts had been focused on whatever relic the monk had gotten his hands on. The fall of the Thieves' Guild, however, had all but crushed the criminal presence in Roma; the scattered bands that remained were isolated to the outer perimeter of the city proper and the fields beyond. With the city stabilized, it was time that we focused our efforts on a more achievable goal.

The importance of the meeting was only underscored by the decision to meet in the Spaniard's own residence. I could have walked in the front door, but the fantasy that the people had built up around me was more important to maintain than personal convenience. I advanced quietly from shadow to shadow, at times narrowly dodging the patrols, and eventually made my way to a small window looking in on one of the fortresses' winding corridors. I slipped inside and made my way to the third floor, where I was to meet the others.

As I arrived at my destination, I shocked a pair of guards standing at the ready outside a set of double doors. They were peculiarly dressed; in plumed helms that covered their entire faces, high quality armor covered in ornate designs, capes that hung down to just below their knees, and the Borgia crest prominently displayed on their chests. At first they reached for their swords, but then one of them realized my identity and motioned to his companion to stand down. The guard grudgingly sheathed his weapon and pulled open one of the doors for me, to reveal a spacious dining room whose chandeliers bathed the hallway in light. I walked through the door, which was quietly shut behind me, and turned my attention to the other guests.

Viscardi was there, standing with his back to the wall and watching all entrances to the room like an owl observes field mice. He nodded in my direction and continued his surveillance. Turning my gaze towards the dining table in the center of the room, I saw a bald man dressed in priestly attire voraciously consuming the fine dinner that had been laid on the table. It was Ristoro, a contemptible man, a lecherous hypocrite masquerading as a clergyman to conceal his true nature, visiting brothels with impunity and with no respect for his oaths. The worm's only useful trait was his ability to mimic any official's handwriting, a valuable talent if one could attain the right seals. He paused while moving to drink his wine, and turned his head towards me. He jumped a little as he saw me, knowing my stance on his most favored haunts had made him wary, but his face only revealed a hint of his fear.

"Ah, Malfatto," he said, his hands reflexively reaching for the dagger hanging from his belt, "I assume you skulked in through a window somewhere? Did you have a pleasant stroll from the hovel you call a home?" He smirked a little, knowing I worked in the slums he assumed I was some pauper. Little did he know I had used the Borgia's gold, a reward for my services, to not only purchase a number of safe houses around the city (a purchase Baltasar had informed me was necessary during my training) but to also stock my clinic and hideaways with medical supplies, disguises, weapons, and rations. He sat there, his hand continuing to hover over his dagger, but I didn't answer. Breaking my silence was not worth it for an insect like Ristoro. Ironically, his own home was a monastery where many of the other priests and monks lived in poverty. In fact, before I had closed the clinic for the day, father Severino (one of the other priests in his order and a friend of Father's) had related a story of how, when forced to give away his earthly possessions, Ristoro had bawled like a child and refused to speak to the other priests for a month.

Sitting across from Ristoro was a hunchback dressed in fine clothes and wearing a ridiculous cape with an oversized fur collar. Silvestro Sabbatini, a slave trader and bootlicker of the nobility. He steals children from their parents, and sometimes vice versa. Once he tried to do so in my neighborhood, during the dead of night. I killed his thugs, and deposited them on his doorstep with a folded note. He'd steered clear after that. Unfortunately, spider that he was, he had too many members of the nobility wrapped in his web for me to eliminate his activities entirely. Thankfully he took no notice of me, being too wrapped up in complementing the man sitting to his left, Cesare Borgia.

The young Borgia was more composed than the last time I had seen him. He was in his element now, his father's castle, surrounded by finery and all the servants he could ask for. He even had a sycophant like Sabbatini to stroke his ego. He had received a new breast plate, one that fit him, and had his silent friend from our last meeting, Micheletto Corella (whose name I had learned from rumormongers), sitting on his left. The spoiled brat turned his attention away from Sabbatini for a moment and saw me watching him. A look of mixed recognition and disdain appeared on his face and he quickly turned away when I tilted my head in response. He disapproved of my presence in his father's inner circle. I was a wild card, whose motives he could not understand and whose face he could not use against me should I insult him. While he was distracted by me, Sabbatini reached out with his left arm to clap Cesare on the back. The young noble grabbed the other man's arm roughly and pushed it away, warning him to know his place.

Corella, meanwhile, watched me like a footpad eyes a nearby mercenary, judging whether he could snatch his target's purse before he was struck to the ground. Although I doubt he had much interest in money. He'd earned a reputation as Cesare's personal executioner and likely saw me as a threat to his master's well-being. I made a point to ignore him and walked over to stand next to Viscardi, making sure not to obstruct his view of the doorway.

"Russo is busy tonight." Teodor said, nodding towards an empty seat at the table where the smuggler would have normally been fiddling with some trinket. "She is meeting with one of her contacts to secure an elusive artifact outside of the city." Her absence was not very surprising, from what Teodor had told me she had little interest in the meetings. Regardless, the Borgia had her scouring the Mediterranean for oddities like the so called "Apple" in Firenze.

As we stood there silently the guards opened the doors and the Spaniard and, surprisingly, Baltasar entered the room. The elder Borgia approached the table and stood at its head while Baltasar stood to his right. The latter spared a nod for both Teodor and I and then stood at attention. The other guests, Cesare included, had gone silent and had focused their attention on the newcomers, awaiting the Spaniard's instructions.

"As you all know," he said. "The situation in Roma has improved after the successful crippling of both the Cento Occhi and their more entrenched competition, the Thieves guild." He paused for a moment to nod in my direction (I caught a venomous glare from Cesare at that) and continued. "With the city secure, for the moment at least, we must focus on events to the west," he motioned towards Baltasar, who pulled a roll of parchment from his pocket and laid it on the table.

It was a simple map of the Mediterranean, with multiple locations marked on it in black ink. I could tell Baltasar had been using the map for his own activity judging by the coded notes in its borders. He pointed to a dot in Italia which was marked with an apple, "I know the mad monk has the artifact," he said assuredly, "However, whatever mastery he has gained over it has made extraction very difficult and with our… _competition_ not faring much better than we are it seems the conflict will continue for longer than anticipated." As he paused Ristoro sneered and pointed a finger at him accusingly.

"Maybe it is your incompetence that makes this difficult, Barber? Surely our enemies cannot have also decided to desert their post?" The spy master gave Ristoro a chilling stare which made the fool shrink back quietly, and then he continued to address the room.

"The leader of the 'insurgency' in Firenze is a man named Niccolo Machiavelli. He's not incompetent, but he lacks the experience and man power to retrieve the artifact from Savonarola. As for the agent that stole the artifact from our shipment in Venezia, and then lost it to the monk, he seems to have disappeared after disrupting operations in Spain." Baltasar moved his finger towards a dot in Spain with a simple drawing of a bird over it and then moved his finger to rest on another marker in France, "Which brings me to a new dilemma. I have received word from Charles de la Motte, a Marquis in Paris. It appears our allies are suffering from multiple attacks there perpetrated by unknown assailants. I would hazard a guess that our troublesome "friends" are responsible for this since the attacks are targeting frequent haunts of the Marquis' most skilled engineer."

"This particular engineer," the Spaniard interrupted, "Has provided my allies in France with a technological advantage and helped develop the arquebuses that many of the city guard use today. I believe he would be more useful here, where the situation is more stable, than in Paris. However," he paused for a moment before proceeding, "I do not want to bring whatever enemy is attacking him back here. Therefore I am sending one of you to Paris to cooperate with the Marquis' own agents and neutralize the threat before bringing the engineer back here." He then nodded to Baltasar, who resumed as if nothing had happened.

"This mission will take both skill and subtlety, as the French are unaware of the alliance between the Borgia and the Marquis. Therefore I have decided to send an agent who has experience in infiltration and whose training has prepared him for high risk assignments." He pointed towards me, "I will send Malfatto accompanied by a trustworthy companion to provide muscle and, if need be, to take the blame for anything the French may discover." Sabbatini scoffed at this.

"Can this peasant even speak French?" he asked mockingly. Baltasar turned to look at him and replied coldly.

"I've taught him various languages. All those that might be of use in Europe, and Arabic if he was ever needed in Ottoman land. He learns quicker than most." With Sabbatini still looking unconvinced the elder Borgia interceded.

"I trust Baltasar's judgment, and since Malfatto is the only one of you who made any headway in the destruction of internal threats, he seems like the best choice." He took a moment to scan everyone seated in the room. "Am I understood?" he asked.

Everyone in the room, even his son (albeit reluctantly), nodded. "Then this business is completed, Ristoro, Sabbatini, give me a report of your recent activity." Meanwhile, Baltasar folded up his map and motioned for me to follow him out of the room.

I nodded to Teodor and followed Baltasar out past the guards and down the hallway. He then motioned for me to follow him out of a nearby window and led me out of the castle's walls and into one of his nearby safe houses.

"It's good to see you again, amico," he said as we entered through a cellar door into a room filled with the master spy's equipment.

"Likewise," I responded, "It has been a while. I see the hunt for the "apple" does not go well?"

Baltasar shook his head as he pulled over a pair of chairs and then a wooden table for us, "It's a nightmare, so many fanatics in that damned city, and the _monk_. Don't let me even think about the damn monk! Every assassin fails to touch him, his restricted diet makes it difficult to poison his food, and to top it all off his influence spreads every day!" he sighed deeply before he motioned for us to sit down at the table he'd brought and removed a rolled piece of parchment from his pocket. "But I didn't bring you here to listen to me vent, I'm going to brief you on your next mission."

"The man you are protecting is called Gaspar de la Croix, he's currently being hidden in a safe house whose location is known only to the Marquis and the agents he will be providing for this mission. Work well with them and I'm sure you'll complete this mission flawlessly."

"What about this "companion" you're sending me with?" I asked, "Can I expect loyalty from him?" Baltasar chuckled a little at my question.

"Loyalty?" He asked, the beginnings of a smile on his face, "He worships you! He thinks you're the greatest artist the world has ever known! He's even followed your example somewhat and adopted his own persona! Il Carnefice, he calls himself!"

A little taken aback I asked, "And where do I meet this 'admirer' of mine?" Baltasar handed me the parchment.

"The details are all here, you leave in two weeks. That's enough time for you to arrange for your clinic's operation during your absence. Don't worry, I'll ask the city guards to keep thieves out of your home, just focus on this mission."

After that we exchanged farewells and wished each other well. Then I returned home and began arranging for my departure.


End file.
